A Family Undefined
by Notmyrealname23
Summary: AU. John Winchester uproots his 11 year old son Sam to a new city and a new hunt. They meet a teen with a mysterious past, in need of a new future. All is not what it seems in the small town, which the Winchesters will find out in a big way.
1. Chapter 1: Carrizo Springs, TX

A/N **This is my first attempt at writing a story, and it's something that's been in my head for a while. Its a wee!chesters fic and It's very AU in the sense that the brothers are unrelated. Sam lives with John, and John is still a hunter. But Dean lives elsewhere.**

**Please tell me what you think, any reviews would be much appreciated. Part of the reason I am doing this is to improve on my writing, so I hope some of you could also comment on the writing style - what you liked, what you didn't. If it was believable or just plain crap.**

**Also, its rated for language mostly. Probably violence later.**

**Sam is 11, Dean is 15**

**I hope you enjoy - **

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Chapter 1: Carrizo Springs, TX

My hand reaches to block the sun's rays blinding me through the greasy window of the diner. We hadn't eaten real food since our last stop in Nowheresville, Mississippi, almost ten hours and two states lines ago.

"Dad?" I look across the table to Sammy, ketchup smeared across his right cheek as he bites into his hotdog.

"Yeah Sammy?"

"This where we're gonna be stayin' now?" He says it through a mouthful of food.

"Yeah."

He looks through the window, face scrunching into something unpleasant. "I still don't see why we had to leave Tennessee so soon." He fidgets with the napkin in front of him, folding it into neat little squares. "I liked it there."

I'd just finished up with a nasty Wendigo terrorizing the small town we were staying when I caught wind of a string of unexplained deaths down here is why. We had a major shit storm when I showed up at Sammy's school to pull him out of class. It started out as sulking, complaining about missing out on one thing or another. There's always something with the boy, if it's not soccer, it's the school projects or tests he's missing out on. By the time we hit Alabama, it turned into a full on screaming match. Almost twenty hours later, Sam's still seething, barely giving me two words.

It never used to be this bad. He used to do what I told him without complaint, always the good little soldier. If he doesn't learn soon there's going to be major problems down the road.

I flash my eyes up to his "You know why."

"But-"

"Sam." My tone is a warning. This isn't the place.

He goes silent. Head down, intently studying the chipped Formica table under his hands. I close my eyes, and breathe out, counting to ten in my mind.

"You'll learn to like it here, too." I say, softer.

"But I was _finally_ making friends." He looks up at me with those eyes that remind me too much of Mary. I look away.

"You'll make friends here."

He huffs and tilts his head back out the window, watching a truck on the street, a deep rumbling sound as it idles at a red light.

"No I wont." I almost don't hear his words.

"Just give it time."

His only answer is a lazy shrug. The light turns green and the truck accelerates, disappearing from view.

My mind works out what to say to him when our waitress comes back.

"You two ready for the check." She's young, probably sixteen or seventeen. She's all impatient energy, bouncing on her feet, eyes scanning the other tables she undoubtedly needs to serve.

"Yeah," I look for her name tag. "Katie, that would be great. Thanks."

She drops the check on the table and leaves with a quick 'thanks for coming' before moving on to her next table.

I reach for the worn leather wallet in my back pocket, fishing out a twenty. My eyes fall to the flimsy license in the front flap. This time around I'm John Handel.

I tap my fingers in front of Sammy, where he's gone back to watching the table, finishing the last bite of his hot dog. He looks up, startled.

"You get enough to eat?"

"Yeah."

"Because that's it until tomorrow."

"I said I got enough."

I put my arms up in fake surrender. "Alright, got it."

I place the bill on the table and reach for my jacket, Sammy doing the same across from me.

There's a cold chill in the air when we step outside. I shove my hands deep in my jacket pockets, pulling it tighter against me as we head to the Impala. It's getting dark, the sun setting against the flat expanse of land behind us, orange and red splashes painted across the horizon.

When we reach the car I slip in behind the wheel, Sam sliding across the bench beside me. I turn the key and she purrs to life, CCR blaring from the speakers.

_I see the bad moon arising._

_I see trouble on the way._

_I see earthquakes and lightnin'._

_I see bad times today._

With my foot on the gas I back from the parking spot and pull out onto Nopal Street. It's quiet, few others sharing the road with us as I head north through town. Where most towns have a bank on every corner, Carrizo Springs has a Mexican restaurant, colorful billboards beckoning us.

A cheap enough motel sits against a wooded lot just at the edge of town. I pull off the street to a parking spot near the front, the car dipping as one of the tires drives through a deep pothole, mud and water splashing against the windows.

I pull the keys from the ignition as I turn to Sam. "Stay in the car, I'll be right back."

"OK." He's looking out the window.

I walk to the lobby where a man stands behind the desk. He looks up at me from what he's reading, his eyes bloodshot. His hair is matted and dirty, long overdue for a pair of scissors.

"I'm looking for a room."

"Two twins or a queen?" He asks, putting whatever magazine he was flipping through under the desk.

"Two twins."

He stretches for a key behind him as I reach in my wallet for a credit card. When all is said and done he reaches forward and points to the far end of the motel. "Room 13" He barks out.

I head back out to where Sam is waiting, fiddling with the cassette player, AC/DC now playing on fast forward as he searches through the songs. I drive alongside the squat building, parking outside our room.

"Home, Sweet Home." Sam says, voice filled with contempt as he looks up at the small building in front of us.

The red brick is dirty and stained from long years of abuse, the roof shingles faded and warped, curling at the edges. The grass surrounding the building is dead, small patches of green showing through the brown.

We get out, slamming the doors behind us.

"Help me bring the stuff in." I call across the roof to Sam. He glares at me but obeys, reaching in the back seat for the bags and I go around to the trunk for the weapons.

Sam heads for the door, patiently waiting for me on the single step, hands deep in his jeans pocket as I make my way up. I jam the key into the hole, jerking the door open wide.

Its better inside than I would have expected. The beds sit against the far wall, the bathroom door left open between them. In the corner is a table with a microwave, two chairs on either side. I look to my right as I close the door behind us and spot a dresser, a TV and lamp sitting on the thick wood. Sam throws the bags on one of the beds as I place mine gently on the dresser.

I look out the window and spot a bar across the street.

"I'm going to go out for a bit Sammy." I say as he moves to sit on one of the beds. "You know the drill."

"Yeah. Lock the door, close the blinds, don't let anyone in, don't answer the phone. I know how to take care of myself, I've done it a million times."

The last words hurt.

The first few years after the fire, I kept him close, kept him safe. My last remaining link to Mary. But the years went by, the trail growing colder with each passing day. As much as I hate to admit it, he became a burden over a son.

I told myself he was fine, he could handle himself. But he was just a kid...is just a kid. And eventually the days alone turned into weeks, sometimes longer.

I shove those thoughts deep as I move back to the door. "I'll be back soon."

I don't wait for his reply as I step outside, waiting until I hear the lock click before stepping out to the street.

It's busy inside, people huddled at tables, nursing bottles of amber liquid. The lights are too bright, the music too loud, a steady thumping from the speakers. I move to the bar, taking a seat. I motion for the bar tender.

"What'll it be?" He asks, a white towel slung over the shoulder of his black t-shirt.

"Coors. Put it on my tab." I hand over my card.

A few hours later, still stable on my feet, I step outside and head back to the motel. When I get close, I stop still, noticing for the first time there's someone standing at the passenger side of the Impala, hands cupped around his eyes, looking through the window.

My mind thinks fleetingly of the guns laying in the trunk as I walk slow and deliberate, quiet on the balls of my feet. When I'm barely a few feet away, the stranger still oblivious to me, I reach out with my right hand for his shoulder.

I flip him, pushing his back hard against the Impala. He grunts out in either pain or surprise, reaching his arms up to mine.

"What the hell are you doing with my car!" I shout, spit flying unchecked from my mouth.

I get a good look at his face from the streetlight above us. I expected the fear I saw plastered on his face, what I didn't expect was a kid to be staring back at me.

His breaths are harsh as he claws at me where his threadbare shirt is bunched in my fists. Short jagged nails scrape at the exposed skin under my jacket sleeves, harsh red lines running the length of my wrists.

"Let go of me, man!"

"I'm only going to ask once more," I tighten my grip against his jacket, leaning in close so I can almost smell his rancid breath. "What are you doing with my car." I drop my voice, speaking the words slow.

"I was just looking!"

"Looking? At eleven at night?"

"I was walking home, I saw the car –" I slam him against the door again.

He grunts, raising his arms, palms out. "I was checkin' out the interior, that's all."

"Something tells me your lying."

"Man, I swear." I stare at him, his eyes wide, jaw clenched, trying to struggle out of my grasp. Something in his expression almost makes me want to believe him.

He finally stops struggling and I loosen my grip, stepping back slightly. I take a moment to get a good look at him.

His brown hair is cropped short to the scalp, and the green eyes are guarded as they look into mine. He has a bruise stretched tight against his left eye, a mottled blue and green snaking towards his temple before it disappears under the hood of his sweatshirt. He has another faded bruise on his right jaw.

"Just walking home, Huh? Just looking at my car?"

"Yeah." He sounds defensive and gives me a piercing look. "What year is she?"

"1967. You into cars?"

He looks at me a second longer. Then suddenly looks away, back down to the car. "Yeah. Kinda."

When I'm sure he wont run, I let him go.

It's silent as he turns back around, running his hand along the smooth space between the roof and the window. "Man, I wish I could have a car like this. All I've ever driven is my step dad's shitty old clunker." He puts a real emphasis on the shitty.

I look at his face, he doesn't look a day over fourteen. "Are you even old enough to drive?"

He juts his chin out, standing straight. "Yeah, I'm eighteen."

We both know it's a lie, but I let it go.

"I bet it's a real gas guzzler though."

He's mostly right, but that doesn't give him a right to say anything bad about my car.

"No. She doesn't do too bad."

"Huh." He pauses. "She a manual?"

"No, automatic."

"Oh, man. That's a shame. Car like this should _definitely _be a manual."

I've had enough of this kid talking about my car like he knows anything about anything.

"Listen kid. This has been great and all, but you should really get outta here before I do something we both regret."

"Yeah, OK." He starts to turn, but looks back. "Oh, but one more thing."

"Yeah, what's that?"

He punches me then, shoving me, hard. If the alcohol wasn't numbing me, I could have caught myself.

"Run Jack!"

I see a shadow of a man jump to his feet on the other side of the car. Damn kid must've just been distracting me.

By the time I get my balance back, the two are off and running, halfway down the street already. I hear deep laughter, and see a crowbar hanging from the other guy's hand.

"Dammit!" My hand slams against the hood of the Impala.

I turn back to our motel, feet heavy against the hard ground. I stand at the door, ransacking my pockets in search of the keys. I finally find them when suddenly the light flicks on behind the curtained window and the door opens in my face, Sammy standing there in his pajamas, looking up at me, worry etched on his face.

"What's going on Dad? What happened to your eye?"

"Nothing Sammy. What did I tell you? Don't open the door for anyone!"

I step through the threshold, Sam closing the door behind me.

"But I saw you through the peephole."

"I could have been a shapeshifter, a demon, anything. I've told you this a million times!"

His eyes drop and his shoulders sag. "I'm sorry, sir." His eyes peer back up to me. And there's Mary, staring at me again.

My stomach drops. I put my arm around his shoulder, turning him towards the bed he must have been sleeping in, the sheets and comforter a jumbled mess near the foot of the bed.

"Sorry Sammy. Let's just go to bed."

"K." He gets into bed, pulling the covers up around his shoulders.

I turn off the light and move to my own bed, sliding in under the covers.

Sammy's voice breaks the silence. "Who was that guy you were talking to outside?"

"I don't know. Just some punk kid."

"What did he want?"

"I don't know Sam. Just go to bed, I'm not gonna to ask again. We've got to get up early tomorrow."

"Yes, sir."

Soon enough his breaths even out in sleep, my own soon following.


	2. Chapter 2: Deputy Handel

Chapter 2: Deputy Handel

It's still dark when I open my eyes, the first rays of light barely piercing through the cracked slats of the the dusty window shade. I look to the alarm clock beside me, 6:19 blaring bright red against the suffocating darkness. I raise my fingers to my cheek, a dull throbbing pain where the kid hit me last night.

I tilt my head against the pillow, my eyes finding Sammy's sleeping form on the next bed. I listen to his quiet breaths, watching the slow rise and fall of his shoulder as he lays on his side.

I push myself to a sitting position, slipping off the bed, one foot then the other. Sammy still dead to the world, I grab my jeans and pull them over my legs before stepping into my boots. Snagging my jacket from the chair I head to the door, gently pulling it towards me, careful not to wake him.

I head through the dark night, streetlights lighting my way down the street, early commuters passing beside me. Trailers give way to houses, until I finally hit the business district, and spot a McDonald's sitting just a few blocks from where we ate last night.

Inside, an old woman sits alone at a booth, a hand covering her face, greasy blond hair hanging like string through her fingers. As the door closes behind me, her head tilts towards me. Mascara is caked under her eyes and the way her eyes squint against the harsh lighting tells me she's eating off a hangover.

At the counter, I order two sausage and egg Mcmuffins. A Ronald McDonald statue sits near the edge of the counter, the red smile plastered too big against the white face, his hand frozen in an endless wave. I laugh to myself at the image of a 6 year old Sam hiding behind my leg, head buried in my thigh as we pass the same statue in a different McDonalds in another town, the name lost to the years.

'_Dad...Dad, Keep it away from me.' Fear is evident in his voice._

_'Huh?' I look around, concern churning in my stomach, expecting a ghost or a monster. But my search comes up empty._

_'That.' I stop, turning to see his finger, pointing to the Ronald McDonald standing near the door. _

_'Ronald McDonald?'_

_'The clown.' He breaths the word clown, like he's afraid to say it out loud._

_'It's just a clown Sammy.' He buries his face deeper into my thigh, gripping tighter._

_A small laugh escapes my throat. 'Alright. I got you Sammy. You're safe.'_

_It's not until we're safely back to the Impala that he lets go, quickly jumping into the back seat, huddled against the car door, as far away from the building as he can get._

He's seen things that would give most kids nightmares, yet he breaks out in a sweat at the mere mention of a clown. Go figure.

With my bag in hand, I head back to the motel. Sammy's still asleep when I pull the door closed behind me.

I move to his bed, shaking his shoulder. "Sammy, time to get up."

He mumbles something unintelligible, turning his body away from me.

"It's almost 7 Sam, you have school today."

This time I get no response.

"That's it." I grab the comforter and sheets where they hang loose from the edge of the bed and yank. He lands in a heap at the foot of the bed.

"Dad!" He struggles to free himself from the tangled sheets.

"I said it was time to get up for school."

"I was getting up."

"Sure didn't look that way to me." I reach my hand out to him, a peace offering. He takes it.

I pull him to his feet and throw one of the sandwiches to him.

"McDonald's!" He says, a smile instantly lighting up his face.

"Yeah. Now don't go saying I never got you anything."

We each settle into a chair at the table. I inhale my Mcmuffin and when I look back up, Sammy's taking his time, barely a third of the thing gone.

"Hurry up, Sam. We gotta leave soon."

"Do I have to start school today?" He whines.

I look up to him, taken back. Normally he looks forward to school.

"I thought you liked school."

"I do. It's just...I don't wanna be the new kid again."

"You'll be fine."

He puts his Mcmuffin back down on the crinkled wrapper, some of the cheese falling from the bread.

"Can't I just stay home today, start tomorrow instead?"

"What difference is one day gonna make?"

He shrugs a shoulder. "I dunno."

"You're starting today, that's final." I get up from the table. "Now hurry up and eat, we're leaving in ten."

"Yes, sir."

I move to my bag, grabbing the colt, shoving it in the waistband of my jeans. I riffle through the clutter in the bag, finally coming up with the the US Marshal badge, which I stick in the front pocket of my jacket. I turn around to Sammy watching me, chewing the last bite.

"What are you gonna do today?" He asks.

"Find out what happened to those people who died."

He crumples the wrapping, throwing it in the garbage as he heads for his bag.

"Who are you today? A US Marshal, the Feds – " He quirks his head as he looks back at me. "Wait, who am I again?"

I should probably find it odd that an 11 year old is comfortable with a new identity every time we move. Somewhere in the deep recesses of my mind I probably do.

"Your Sam Handel."

"Oh yeah, that's right."

"Keep it straight. We don't need any trouble."

"I know."

When he's dressed and has his pack slung over his shoulder, I move to the door.

"You ready?"

"Yeah." he says, disappointment unmistakable in the single word.

I drive to the other end of town and stop in front of the low sprawling building. Kids litter the front lot, their high voices grating on my nerves. As soon as Sammy shuts the door behind him, I yell bye through the open window and peel out, tires screeching against the pavement as I make a U turn back towards town. I look into the rear view mirror, Sammy still standing in the middle of the road watching me. My eyes stay at the mirror until I go around a bend and he's gone.

I reach my hand for the glovebox, grabbing the sheet of paper sitting on top. I look at the top line, an address. The first victim's family.

When I pull up to the house I spot a car sitting in the driveway, two strips of pavement leading somewhere behind the house.

I head up the front walk and knock on the door. I hear movement from inside, and a few seconds later a woman opens the door.

"Can I help you?"

"Hi, mam. My name is John Handel, I'm a US Marshall." I flash her the badge. "I wanted to ask you a few things about your husband, Mark Hennessey, if that's not too much trouble."

Her face falls, her composure breaking. "I already talked to the police about this. They said they got what they needed."

"That's true. But I'm not with the Police mam. I have a few questions of my own, if you don't mind."

She stands there, unmoving, before pulling the door wider.

"Come in."

"Thank you."

She guides me to the couch and I sit, staring out the window to the trees bordering the property behind her house.

"What did you need to know?"

"Could you tell me what happened?"

"I already told this all to the police. I'd rather not –" She cuts herself off, bringing her hands up to cover her face, crying softly.  
I lean forward, placing my hand on on of her's.

"Mam, I understand what your going through. I lost my wife 11 years ago. It was hard, almost tore me apart." She looks up at me, her eyes red, tears trailing down her cheeks.

"You have a son?" I point to a picture on the wall of a young boy grinning for the camera.

"Yeah, that's Tommy. He just turned 8."

"Looks like a great kid. Sammy, that's my boy. He kept me going after my wife died. He was just an infant at the time, but he was all I had."

She sniffles. "I don't know what I would do if I didn't have my Tommy."

I look into her eyes. "Mam,– "

"Please," she says. "Call me Joanne."

"Joanne. I know this is hard. But it does get easier."

She nods. "What would you like to know Deputy Handel?"

"Please, It's John." I look at her again. "I know it's hard, but it would really help me if you could tell me what happened to your husband."

She takes a deep breath. "It was about a three weeks ago. Mark and I were having another fight." She shakes her head. "I can't even remember what it was about anymore. But it was getting bad, loud. And, I don't know...he just stops talking, mid sentence. Stomps through the living room, leaves out the back door." Her eyes look outside, as if hoping to see Mark standing there, wishing this was all part of some sick joke.

"I watched him leave through the window. But I was too mad to go after him."

"And he never came back?"

She shakes her head. "When he didn't come back that night I didn't worry. I just figured he went to his brother's house to cool down. He lives a couple streets over. I called in the morning, but he said Mark never showed up. I called the police and they f-found him..." Her voice falters, her face in her hands again. I reach over, covering a shaking shoulder with my palm. It takes a second but she looks back up, taking another deep breath.

"They found him. Outside of town, near the creek. They say it was an animal attack, coyotes or something."

"Did anything else happen, anything that may stick out. Anything that may seem odd. The smallest thing may help."

She looks out the window again, thinking. "It's stupid, probably not the kind of thing your looking for."

"Please, anything will help."

"Well our neighbors. They have a baby girl with colic, and we can hear her crying over here sometimes." She pauses and I nod, encouraging her. "Well they were gone that weekend, camping. But I could have sworn I heard the baby crying just after Mark left. I know it's stupid, but I thought it was kind of strange."

"Your neighbors didn't come back early?"

"No. I went over the next day to check, but they were still gone."

"Does anybody else around here have a baby?"

"No. I know all my neighbors. The closest family with a baby is two streets over. But it sounded like it was right outside our house."

That's odd.

"Thank you Joanne, I'll look into it."

I get up from the couch, Joanne following. I reach my hand out for her's, but she wraps her arms around me instead.

"Thank you John. I hope things get easier for you and your son."

"Each day they do." Not exactly a lie. "You take care of Tommy."

She walks me to the door.

"I really appreciate you taking the time to talk to me. We'll figure out what happened to your husband."

She waves to me as I walk back to the Impala, shutting her door as I step in.

I drive back down the street, looking at the second address on the sheet. This one's in the trailer park near our motel.

I drive back across town, pulling up to the trailer on the end. Beer cans litter the yard around a broken down van, sitting crooked where one of the wheels is missing.

I walk through the dead grass, pounding on the door. It opens almost immediately, a young woman in a torn t-shirt stumbling with the momentum of the door, a beer can clutched in her hand.

"Yeah?"

"Mrs. Salvan?" For some reason I was picturing her much different.

"Yeah."

"I'm Deputy Handel." I flash her the badge. "I wanted to talk to you about what happened to your husband four nights ago."

A harsh laugh escapes her mouth. "Bastard deserved what he got."

"Excuse me."

"Yeah. The fucking asshole deserved what he got."

"Why do you say that."

"'Cuz that night, he stumbled in drunk again. Like always. Out all night, leaving me with the kid while he's out having fun." She takes a swig of the beer.

"So I start yelling at him, telling him off for what he is. Deadbeat, lazy, freeloader, all that. And he's just standing there, this stupid look on his face, like he's barely even there. Then he just snaps and he lunges at me. Gives me this," She points to her eye, a dark bruise blossoming across the pale skin.

"So I shove him out the door, and he's too drunk to do anything about it. Just stumbles down the stairs. He can barely get back up, and he starts yelling things out at me, slut, whore, you know."

She throws the beer can past me, joining the others in her yard before turning away from me, heading to the kitchen.

I follow her in, the trailer smelling musty, like stale beer and cigarettes.

She's at the counter, pouring herself another drink.

She motions to her glass. "Want anything?"

"No, I shouldn't." When she doesn't start talking, I continue. "Do you know where your husband might have gone after that?"

"Hell if I know."

"What did you do after?"

"I hear my kid crying and I go to his room. Weirdest thing though, he's asleep when I get there. Got over that one pretty quick."

"Was it definitely your kid?"

"Well who else would it be?"

"Are there any other kids on the street it could have been?"

"I don't know. I guess."

I look around, noticing something for the first time. "Where is your son anyways?"

"Some social service bitch took him away after the cops came. Said this wasn't a 'suitable environment' or something." She air quotes suitable environment. "Who's to say this isn't a suitable environment. I was doin' just fine, he was alive, wasn't he."

It takes all my strength to not take her head off for all the things wrong with that statement.

"You don't seem that torn up about it."

She shrugs. "Whatever, one less thing to worry about."

I let it go silent, the only sound the ice clinking against the glass as she takes another drink.

"Where did they find your husband?"

"I don't know, somewhere outside of town."

"Near the creek?"

"I don't know, maybe. I wasn't really listening. I was just glad the bastard was gone."

I move back to the door. "Thanks for your time Mrs. Salvan."

"Uh huh."

I let myself out and move back to the Impala, glad to be out of there.

I start the engine, pointing the car in the direction of the motel. The phone is ringing as soon as I step through the door. I almost ignore it, the bar across the street the only thing on my mind, but think better of it.

"Hello?" I say as I pick it up.

I listen for a few minutes to the person on the other end of the line.

"He what?"

There's more words. "Yeah, I'll be there soon."

"Sammy." I shake my head, once again grabbing my jacket.

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**Sorry for the lack of Dean in this chapter, but it was more of a setup chapter anyways. But I promise, he will be introduced for real in the next chapter.**


	3. Chapter 3: Trouble at School

A/N: **Thanks for the reviews. As noted by a few of you, I am watching my instances of your/you're a lot closer, and all the other errors.**

**I hope you enjoy this chapter.**

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As soon as I walk through the door to the office, Sam knows he's in trouble. His eyes meet mine briefly before they flick away. He's sitting straight against the back of the chair, his right arm wrapped around his midsection, the left flat against the armrest, fingers gripping tight to the edge. I notice bruising on his cheek.

"Sam."

"Dad." He still won't look at me.

"Trouble on the first day, that's a record. Hell, trouble at all, this isn't like you Sam. What has gotten into you?"

"I'm sorry Dad. I didn't mean too."

"It wasn't his fault sir." Another voice speaks up. "It's not even fair they're keeping him in here."

I was so focused on Sam I didn't even notice the other boy's presence. He's sitting slouched in the next chair, hands stuffed deep in the pockets of his jean jacket, converse shoes flat against the floor. My eyes roam the stranger's face, the short brown hair, green eyes under fresh bruises, the old one still fading on his left temple.

Anger sparks new in the pit of my stomach.

"You little shit."

He looks up at that, confusion in his eyes.

"Dad?" Sam's voice is small.

I ignore him, still facing the boy. "What? Do I need to slam you against the Impala again for you to remember me?"

Recognition finally dawns on the kid's face.

I move towards him and he straightens slightly in his chair. "If you did anything to my son, you'll be in a world of pain. That's a promise."

"Dad, it's not –" Sam starts, but the door opens, and a kid is pushed through by who I can only assume is the principal. He's walking slightly hunched, nursing a broken nose and a black eye almost swollen shut. He glares at the car thief who stares back before his eyes fall to Sam, his head tilted towards the brown carpet, avoiding his eyes.

As soon as he leaves, the principal turns back to me. "Mr. Winchester?"

I stick my hand out to his. "It's John."

He takes my hand. "John, I'm Burt Robbins, Sam's principal. Lets talk in here." He looks to Sam. "Sam, would you mind joining us?"

"Yes, sir." He says, grabbing his jacket and backpack. He gives one last look to the car thief, who, oddly enough, gives him a small smile and quirks his eyebrows.

Sam smiles back before his face is neutral once again.

As soon as we're seated, I start in. "What's going on, what did that kid out there do to my son?"

"Who?" The principal says, looking at where my outstretched hand is pointing towards the closed door. "Dean?"

"So that's his name."

"Listen John, I think you've got this all wrong."

"Oh do I? Enlighten me then."

The principal turns to Sam. "Sam, would you like to tell your dad what happened today?"

Sam looks towards the principal, his face sheepish. "Um. You can if you'd rather, sir."

"Sam. I think it's best if your father hears it in your own words."

Sam looks to me this time, but still won't talk.

"Go ahead Sam. I'm listening."

"Um. I was heading to class when these two guys cornered me at my locker. One of them grabbed a book out of my hand, threw it on the ground. He then grabs my jacket and pushed me back against the locker, saying 'new kids a know it all'." He stops, I urge him on. "I, ah, tried to push him away from me, but he was too big and I couldn't."

He stops again, briefly, looking to the principal before continuing on. "Um, I called him a jackass and I kicked his shin."

"That was the right thing to do Sammy." I say. "You can't just let some punk walk all over you."

"John." The principal interjects. "We don't condone fighting of any sort at our school."

"Yeah? Then how's a kid going to learn to take care of himself."

He ignores me, instead looking to Sam. "Let's just allow Sam to finish his story. Go on Sam."

"Uh, well that gets the guy mad. And he punches me in the stomach, then again in the cheek. And the other kid's cheering him on. And a bunch of kids were starting to crowd around us now."

So that's where those bruises came from.

"I still don't see how the kid out there has anything to do with this."

"Sam was just getting to that part." Principal Robbins says, nodding his head once again towards Sam.

"Dean. That's the guy's name out there. Dean came up and pulled the kid off me when he was about to punch me again." Sam's voice is becoming more animated as he continues. "And he punches him in the face. Really hard too. And the guy fell against the lockers." Sam actually smiles. "That part was actually really funny."

"Sam." The principal interrupts. "Chad could have been seriously hurt. I wouldn't say that's funny."

Sam looks back down, playing with the sleeve of his sweatshirt.

"Then they start hitting each other until one of the teachers breaks it apart."

"Well it sounds like Chad got what he deserved." I say when Sam's finished.

"Like I said John. Fighting is not allowed at our school at all. It's a one way ticket to a suspension."

"Are you telling me my boy is getting suspended over this." Against my better judgment, I start to yell. "That's bull. He was just defending himself."

"John, please. Calm down." He places his hands flat on the desk, fingers fanning. "We're not going to suspend Sam. I agree with you, he was just defending himself."

"Damn straight." I say, much to the disapproval of Principal Robbins.

"While we don't condone the violence," He continues, looking straight to Sam, catching his eyes before Sam diverts them again. "I don't believe he was completely in the wrong."

"Please tell me you are suspending the other kid."

"We are. Three days. Dean too."

Sam's head shoots up at that. "But why! He didn't do anything wrong, he was just protecting me!"

"Dean's been in way too many fights here to count. Truthfully, I think this was just an excuse to punch someone without looking like the bad guy this time."

"That's not true!" Sam says, his fists balling at his sides.

"Whatever the case, Dean's been given too many second chances, and I'm tired of it. We were supposed to be rid of him last year, but he got himself held back for missing too many days. He's just lucky he's not going to be expelled this time."

Sam's eyes go wide. "Expelled."

"Yes. But that isn't what's happening." He says. "Although next time, it may come down to it."

"So what's going to happen now?" I ask.

"Well, I think it would be a good idea for you to take Sam home for the day."

Sam gasps. "Go home?"

"Yes. Don't worry, you'll be able to come back tomorrow. This isn't a suspension, just time to let you cool down."

Principal Robbins looks to me. "I think you have a good kid here John. I want him to succeed, so I'm giving him another chance."

His head turns to Sam. "I hope you don't make me regret my decision."

"I won't, sir. I promise."

"Good. You two are free to go then."

We stand and I stick my hand out to him. "Thank you once again Principal Robbins. I really appreciate this."

Sam reaches his own hand for him and offers his own thanks before we step from the small room.

A man now occupies the seat Next to Dean. He has a receding head of hair, flecks of gray mixed in with the brown. His hand grips Dean's forearm on the armrest, his stern face focused solely on the boy, unaware we've entered the room. Dean is now sat straight in the seat, his body rigid as the man speaks low into his ear.

Principal Robbins coughs and the man swivels in his seat, the stern expression gone as he jumps to his feet.

"Principal Robbins. Russel Sullivan." He reaches his arm out for the man. "I'm sure you remember me, seeing as my step son can't seem to stay out of trouble at this school."

As we pass by Dean, he won't acknowledge us, won't even look up as Sam tries to get his attention. Sam shrugs as we head outside.

Storm clouds are rolling in overhead as we walk to the Impala, anger keeping me silent. At least Sam has the good graces to keep quiet.

As soon as we're settled in the Impala, Sam apologizes again.

"I'm not really mad at what happened Sam. Hell, I think the kid deserved it. But you pulled me away from a hunt. What if this happened while I was out of town?"

"I don't know." He says, looking at his shoes.

"I'll tell you what would happen. They would have called and waited for me to never show up to your school. They'd be forced to check the motel, and they'd find out I was gone and they'd take you from me."

"I know, I'm sorry."

"No Sam. I don't think you do know." I slam my hand against the steering wheel and Sam flinches slightly.

I take a deep breath and lower my voice. "You need to blend in, you can't let this ever happen again."

"I know. I really am sorry dad." He finally looks up to me. "It won't ever happen again."

"Better not." With that I start the Impala, steering the car towards town once again.

"You'll be cleaning out the weapons for a while. And I need to toughen you up, size shouldn't matter, you gotta know how to defend yourself."

"Yes, sir."

It's quiet for a while, then Sam speaks up.

"This sucks."

"What? You had to of known you'd be punished."

"No, not that. That Dean got suspended, now he won't even be at school for the next _three_ days."

Ah, the car thief. I almost forgot about him.

"Hey dad. What did you mean by slamming him against the Impala would make him remember you?"

I almost tell him the truth, but figure it's better to let Sam keep his friend while he's got one.

"Nothing really. I thought he was someone else."

"Good. For a second I thought he was the guy you were yelling at last night."

"So why did the Chad kid want to beat you up anyway?" I say, changing the subject.

"It's because he's so dumb that he's still in sixth grade math even though he's a ninth grader."

"Sammy, we all know you're smart. There's no need to rub it in others faces."

"I know, I didn't." He words come out defensive. "The teacher asked him a question, and he didn't know the answer. Then I raised my hand and got it right."

"Yeah, OK. Just don't do it again."

Yes, sir he answers me, although I'm not even sure what I'm telling him to not do again. Don't have the right answer, don't be smart, don't answer a teacher's question?

Or just don't get taken from me.


	4. Chapter 4: Another Victim

A/N:** Thanks very much for the comments, please keep them coming :)**

**Also, there's a pretty gruesome scene in this chapter. Nothing terrible, but just be warned.**

* * *

When I drive past the turn to our motel, Sammy straightens in his seat, head swiveling as the car continues down the road.

"Where are you going Dad?" He asks, turning back around in his seat, finger pointed vaguely behind us. "You missed the turn."

"What did you think? We'd just drive back to the motel, sit on our asses for the rest of the day?"

"I don't know."

"Well we're not."

"So...where _are_ we going then." His voice is actually shaking.

"Calm down Sammy. I'm just driving to the library. You're doing research for me while I finish up a few things."

He visibly relaxes. "That's not so bad." He says. "What do you need me to look for?"

"Police think animals killed both the victims. I need you to look through the archived newspapers, see if you can find any other suspicious animal attacks around here."

He nods. "Yes, sir."

"Oh." I say. "The wives also said they heard a baby crying before the husbands were killed. Look around, see if you can find anything at all. I'll call Bobby on it later."

"OK."

I pull up to the library, stopping the car in a square of dirt next to the door.

"I'll pick you up when I'm done." I call out the window.

* * *

A single engine airplane takes off from the County Airport as I turn from the highway onto an unnamed road. I drive for a couple minutes until it ends at the Dimmit County Sheriff's Department.

I walk through the double doors of the modest building, flashing my badge to the receptionist.

"The sheriff around." I ask.

She picks up her phone, and with a quick sequence of buttons she's patched through. After a few exchanged words over the line she gives me directions to his office.

When I step through the door, the man rises from his chair and offers his hand. "Sheriff Randall Todd. What can I do for you Deputy Handel?"

"Call me John." Our hands release and he gestures me towards the seat across from his desk. "I wanted to ask you about a few deaths you've had in the last couple weeks."

"Are you referring to Mark Hennessey and Tim Salvan?"

The confusion must have shown on my face. "We don't get many deaths around here."

"What can you tell me about them?"

"Let's see. The first one, Mark Hennessey, we found a couple miles from his house. He was torn apart, some of his limbs missing. "

"Did you see the body at the scene?"

"I did. It was a quiet day, I was one of the first to respond."

"Was there anything odd about his body, any strange markings?"

"Why would there be? It was just some coyotes."

"We're just looking at every possibility. We believe there may be more to it than that."

"What? Like someone sent the animals after these men?"

"Yeah. Something like that."

He thinks about it for a moment. "There is one thing. Both the victims had deep lacerations across their bodies, looked a lot like they came from talons. Considering how much damage was done to the bodies, it doesn't seem to fit."

"You think maybe a vulture could have gotten to them after they died?"

"I thought that too at first, but the autopsies found they were made before the victims' deaths."

It's something at least, but it doesn't bring me any closer to figuring this out.

"I'll look into it. You find anything else?"

"Not that I can think of."

I stand and offer him the number to the hotel. "If you remember anything else, call me."

"I will." He shows me to the door.

More discouraged than anything, I head back across town, hoping Sam found something useful.

When I pull up to the library I honk a few times. Not even a minute later Sam is pulling the passenger door open.

"You find anything in there?"

"Not much."

I frown in frustration and he hurries to add "Sorry. I really did try."

"Yeah, I know." I ruffle his hair. "So tell me, what did you get?"

"Uh, most of what I read were standard animal attacks. You know, dogs, snakes, coyotes. No deaths, nothing suspicious. But there was this one about seven years ago." He flips through the sheaf of papers he's holding. "There wasn't a lot on it, just a small article, I couldn't find anything – "

"Sammy, get to the good part."

"Right, sorry." He finally stops at one of the pages. "So the wife says her husband went for a hike by himself while she and her son were getting dinner ready. But when he never came back to eat they went out to look for him, found him all torn up and bloody about a mile from where they were camping."

"What makes you think this one's related?"

"The article says both the mom and the son heard what they thought was a baby crying, like those wives you talked to. The police searched for anyone else who might have been out there at the time, but it turns out they were alone...police chalked it up to shock."

"Does it say their names in there?"

"He flips through the papers again. "Um Ben Markenson. Kathy Markenson was the wife. It didn't say the kid's name anywhere."

"Was there anything else?"

"No. Nothing until the one a few weeks ago." He peers up at me. "Sorry."

I reach for his hair again. "You did good Sammy."

And just like that the worry disappears from his eyes.

* * *

"So what do you think Bobby? A Banshee?" Even I can hear the desperation in my voice. Three days with no leads, and I'm grasping at straws.

"I don't know, it's not much to go on." The air crackles slightly over the line, masking Bobby's voice.

"Wait, you're cutting out. What did you say?

"I was saying Banshees are death omens. They only warn of death, they don't actually do the killing."

"I know, but the cry."

"You said all the wives heard a baby crying, but most people who hear a Banshee say it's a wail, or a scream."

"Goddammit Bobby, I know!" I slam my closed fist against the table, causing Sammy to look up. I take a deep breath to calm my voice. "I'm just at a loss of what this thing could be."

I look at the notes in front of me. "What about the talon marks? You seen anything like that before?"

"No." He says. "You're sure they're from talons?"

"Yeah, they cops seem pretty convinced about it."

The line falls silent.

"Jesus Bobby, what have you doing over there? You're supposed to be helping me out on this."

"What are you doing?" He says, the anger barely disguised over the line. "I'm looking everywhere on this one. No one's ever run into anything like this."

I start to interject but he goes on.

"You're the one who's there. Get off your ass and dig deeper with the victim's families, with the police. You've got to be missing something."

My only answer is a grunt.

"You any closer to figuring out where the first victim's family went?" He asks.

"No. It's weird, I can't find any mention of them anywhere after the husband's death."

"Maybe they just left, couldn't deal with it."

"Yeah, could be. But their names don't pop up anywhere. You'd think they'd at least have a change of address or something."

The line starts to cut out again. "Listen, I gotta go." Bobby says. "But I'll keep looking."

"Wait! Bobby –" But the line is silent.

I throw the phone to the receiver.

I look at Sam, sitting with a pile of books open in front of him, furiously scribbling words on a loose sheet of paper.

"He hung up on me." I say.

Sam looks up quick and shrugs, going back to his homework.

Snatching my jacket from the chair I head to the door. "I'm going out. Lock the door."

All I get is a nod.

* * *

The storm clouds that have been threatening us all day finally open up, drenching me with rain as I head across the parking lot. Thunder booms in the distance, growing closer with every flash of lightening.

I sit at the same seat and motion for the bartender. With a beer in hand, I finally start to relax, letting the liquid cool my throat. I feel it move through my esophagus until it lands in my empty stomach, realizing I hadn't eaten today. I order a burger and hunch over the plate, taking my time with it. When only crumbs are left on the plate and I'm more than a few beers in I push myself to my feet and head back to the hotel.

* * *

The ambulance is the first thing I notice. The lights are still blaring, casting a red glow through the dark parking lot of our motel.

The second thing I notice is the door to our neighboring room, wide open, dripping blood caked on the walls. An officer moves from the doorway and I see a man laying near the bed, torn to shreds, limbs discarded thoughtlessly around the room.

Instantly sober I run to our motel room and pound on the door.

"Sammy. Open up it's me!" When I get no answer I panic, my heart beating furiously in my chest.

"Sam. Now!" Finally I hear the lock click and before he can clear the way I'm charging at him, bending to his level as I throw the door closed behind me.

"What happened? Are you OK?"

My hands fly over his body, looking for any sign of danger. His face is a shocking shade of white and his arms are trembling where I hold him, but he looks unharmed.

He doesn't answer and I repeat. "Tell me! Are you good!"

"Y-yeah I'm fine."

"What happened?"

"I don't know exactly. I was taking a shower when I hear a thud on the wall. I didn't think anything of it at first. You know, it's a motel, these things happen. But then it happened again. Louder this time, shaking the shower door in it's track. So I turned off the shower and put my ear to the wall to listen."

"Did you hear anything?"

"Um. I heard this really low talking. I couldn't make anything out, but it sounded like pleading." He pauses, his breaths still coming out ragged. "It was silent for a while and then I hear a man scream, like he was in pain. And that went on for a while until it was quiet again."

"Did you see anything?"

He turns his face away from mine in shame. "N-no. I was too afraid to leave the bathroom." He rubs is toe against the carpet. "I just stayed in there until you came pounding on the door."

"Hey, Sammy. It's OK." I turn for the door. "I'm going to go see if I can get anything out of the police."

I turn back around when I don't get an answer. All I get are his pleading eyes.

"I'm just going next door. You'll be fine." He nods finally and I leave.

I move towards the room and a police officer puts his hand on my chest, pushing me back.

"Excuse me sir, I can't allow anybody near the scene."

I pull out my badge. "What's going on here?" I ask.

He looks at the badge before studying my face. "Not sure exactly." He says when he's satisfied. "We got a call from the manager. Said he was walking past the room when he saw the door cracked, thought he saw blood on the handle so he went to check. Walked in on this..." He gestured behind him.

"Do you know what happened?"

"Looks like an animal attack."

"Seems there's been a lot of those around here lately."

"I know. Can't figure out what's causing them though."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, I mean look at this, he's torn to pieces, no animal around here could do this. And if they could, they probably would've taken more of him. Most of the guy is still here," He looks around the room, pieces of flesh seemingly everywhere. "...somewhere. And..."

His eyes scan the parking lot before he backs into the room.

"Come here, take a look at this." He points to three deep cuts stretching across the man's abdomen. "These look a hell of a lot like talon markings, but there's no way a bird could do this to a man."

Same as the other two victims.

"What's going on in here?"

I turn to see a woman at the door, standing tall in high heels. Her hair is cropped short, barely reaching her ears where I see a pair of earrings in the lobes, feathers dangling from a gold loop.

"Mam, I'm going to have to ask you leave –"

"Ross?" All the breath is taken out of her in that single word.

The officer pushes her out of the room. "You know this man?"

"He's my husband." She's holding back tears. "We just got married a little more than a month ago."

"What happened?"

"We got into a fight. Something stupid. I went across the street to the bar for just a minute." She closes her eyes, fighting tears. "I was coming back to apologize."

I cut in. "Let me ask you, and it's probably going to sound like an odd question. But, did you hear a baby crying before you left?"

She looks at me like I grew a second head. "What does that matter?"

"Well did you?" I say instead, not sure how to answer her question.

"If it's so important to you, yes, I did. I figured it was coming from next door." She turns back towards the room, trying to push her way through the door. "What happened to Ross? Let me see him."

The officer struggles to keep her out as I head back to my own room.

Sammy's sitting on the bed when I return, his back flat against the wall. When he sees me enter he relaxes, his body slumping.

"What happened?" He asked.

"Looks like another one."

"Yeah?"

"Exact same thing. The couple were fighting, they hear crying, he gets attacked."

"Huh."

I reach for the phone, dialing Bobby's number. He doesn't pick up and I leave a message.

"Bobby it's John. Call me back when you get this."

* * *

When my eyes open the next morning, Sam's already up, pacing around the room.

"Sammy, what are you doing?"

"Getting ready for school." He shoves a book in his backpack. His voice is too happy, last night all but forgotten.

I look to the clock, squinting at it. "You still have an hour before you need to be there."

He shrugs, grabbing a few sheets of paper from the table, shoving them in the pack too.

"It's been three days." He smiles. "Dean's suspension is over."

I can already envision the fight over leaving when I'm done with this hunt.

"Listen Sam. I know you guys are friends, but I don't want you getting too attached."

"Why? He's cool, and he's actually nice to me."

"You know why." I say, my voice tense. "We're leaving as soon as I take care of whatever's been killing these people."

"But you haven't even figured out what it is yet." He grabs another book from the dresser.

"It may be taking longer than I thought, but I will, I always do." I drop my feet to the floor and push myself from the bed. "And after that we're gone."

He drops back to his bed, book still in hand. "I know."

"But since you're already up, you can walk to school today."

"Why can't you take me?"

"I need to talk to the hotel manager." I throw him his jacket. "And you need to work off some of that energy."

"Fine." He huffs. He stands again and when he's out the door I get dressed and head to the office.

Cop cars still litter the parking lot. The motel door is now closed, yellow caution tape haphazardly criss-crossing the frame. As I walk past, I can still see the blood splattered on the walls through the open window.

At the office, the manager stands at his usual spot just behind the desk.

"Some night, huh?" I say as I walk through the door.

"You're telling me. It's really screwing me over, the cops are all over the place.

"What happened?"

"Some kind of animal attack they're saying."

"You see anything?"

"No, nothing out of the ordinary. Except if you ask me, seems that guy deserved what he got."

"How so?"

"A little bit before I found him, I saw a woman walking into his room. I mean, he and his wife just got married, and yet here he was shacking up with some other woman. I would have given that marriage less than a year."

Hope spreads through me, feeling like I might have finally got something. "You talk to the woman?"

"No. She just came from the road, and walked straight to his room."

"Did you get a good look at her?"

"Not really. She was too far away. I think she was pretty tall though, wearing some kind of fancy dress."

"You think she could have done this?"

"I don't see how. I mean did you _see_ that guy? It's not something I'll ever get outta my head."

I walk back to my room, grabbing for the phone once again. This time Bobby picks up.

"Jesus Bobby, you ignoring me?"

"What do ya think John, I live fer your phone calls?"

"You could at least call me back when it's important."

"We're talking now aren't we?"

I grunt. "We got another death out here. You gotta dig deeper on this."

"I'm using all my resources. You gotta get me more to go on."

"Matter of fact I did get something interesting. Looks like this is somehow connected to a woman. The manager said a woman came to the room just before the guy died."

"Yeah? He say what she looked like?"

"Not really, just that she was tall, wearing a dress." I think back to my conversation with the sheriff yesterday, and the cop's comment last night. "It also looks like the victims have talon marks dragged across their bodies – happens _before_ they die."

"I'll call around, look into it."

"Good."

"So how's Sammy doing?" He asks.

"He's fine. He's friends with a kid who tried stealing my car though."

Bobby laughs on the other end of the line "Do I even wanna to know."

"There's not much to tell. Caught him as I was coming home from the bar."

"How's the kid still alive?"

I shrug, even though Bobby can't see it. "I don't know, he was with an older guy. I'm guessin' he was the mastermind."

"Still woulda' though you'd a killed him."

"Yeah, well he sucker punched me and ran."

"You idjit."

"The real kicker though. Turns out he saved Sammy from some school bully the other day."

"Huh. Big coincidence."

"I just don't want Sam getting too close to this kid. It's gonna cause problems when we have to leave again."

"Let him be a kid John. That's what normal kids do, they make friends."

"Yeah, but Sammy isn't a normal kid, and you know it."

"Who's fault is that." He snaps, the words bitter.

"Don't start with that again."

"You know the offer still stands."

"Sammy's not living with you Bobby. You say it again and I'm hanging up."

"Just let him be a kid while he can John. If you're not careful, you're gonna to lose him."

"Listen I gotta go Bobby. But thanks." I slam the phone on the receiver before he can reply, the truth in his words stinging.

* * *

Sammy's waiting for me as I pull up to the school. Before heading back to the motel I drive to a small convenience store in town, claiming a parking spot beside the building.

Inside are three almost bare aisles of merchandise.

"I just need to grab a few things." I say moving to the back of the store. "Then we'll – "

"Dean!" I hear Sam say. Before I have a chance to react he's moving to the front of the store, where, sure enough, Dean is ringing a customer up.

I let him go and head for what I came for.

The door chime announces the last customer's exit as I move towards the front, a bag of rock salt held against my side with my forearm, food and supplies sitting in the basket clutched in my hand. Sam stands beside Dean at the register, talking excitedly about something.

"We keep running into each other." I say to Dean as I place everything on the belt.

He swipes the bag of rock salt against the scanner. "This is one of, like, two places to buy food in town, it was bound to happen."

He's ditched the jean jacket, instead wearing a black Led Zeppelin shirt.

"You like Led Zeppelin?"

"Huh?"

I gesture to his shirt.

"Oh. Yeah, I do."

"Me too."

He nods at my comment.

"Sam tells me you're back in school."

"Yeah." He says. "Doesn't matter though, I'm just waiting until I'm old enough to drop out."

"What, so you can work here all your life?"

"Hell no." He brings the batteries across the scanner. "I'm just waiting until I'm old enough I can get a job working at the garage."

"As a mechanic?" I figured him for the type to steal cars, not fix them.

"Yeah."

"I used to be a mechanic before –" I stop myself. "Before I wasn't."

"Yeah? What do you do now?"

"Bunch of things. Odd jobs, I find what I can. We move around a lot."

"That's pretty cool."

"No it's not." Sammy grumbles.

"Why not?" Dean asks him with genuine interest.

"Because. We're always starting over. And most of the time the only person I know in town is dad."

"It's better than being stuck someplace you hate. 'Sides, your dad seems pretty cool."

I didn't expect that.

"He's only alright." Sammy says, hiding a grin.

I give him a sideways glare, but there's no real malice

"So how old are you, really?" I ask Dean. "Because we both know you're not eighteen."

He doesn't answer right away and I almost think he wont, but then I hear his voice. "Fifteen."

Dean finally places the bread in the bag, and I give him what I owe.

"Good seeing you again Dean." And this time I think I mean it.

"Yeah, you too."

As I turn to leave Sammy's voice stops me.

"Hey dad." He still hasn't moved and his eyes are begging as he looks at me. "Can Dean come over tonight?"

"What?"

Dean speaks up first. "No, I couldn't..."

"Please." Sam counters. "He saved me from a major beat down the other day. I owe it to him."

I think of Bobby's words earlier.

"I guess there's no harm." I turn to Dean. "What time do you get off?"

He looks to me bewildered. "Um, six."

"You doing anything after?"

"No."

"Good." I give him the address to the motel. "Just come whenever you can. We'll get a bite to eat." I turn towards the door. "Long as you promise not to hot wire my car."

I hear him laugh. "Alright"

"Cool!" Sam says.

"See ya dude." Dean says to Sam as they bump fists.

* * *

Another A/N: **If any of you are at all familiar with the creature, it's probably pretty obvious what it is at this point. But for the purposes of the story, it's a lot more uncommon and ****_very_**** few have seen it.**

**Oh, and at Rosebudgirl, Dean will be pretty regular after this, promise :) ...though he's not quite away from the stepfather.**

**Hope you liked!**


	5. Chapter 5: An Unexpected Dinner

It's almost seven when there's a knock at the door. Sammy struggles to free himself from his bed where he's working on homework, a book falling to the floor in the process.

As he moves for the door I put the police reports back in my journal and shove it in the bag.

"Hey!" Sam says, pulling the door open.

"Hey man." Dean moves into the room, Sam shutting the door behind him. "What's with all the cops out there?"

"Someone got killed next door."

The ease in which Sam says it is almost scary, and Dean probably no doubt realizes this. But he doesn't say anything, just looks to Sam, instead asking "So what's for dinner?"

"Uh. I don't know." Sam turns to me. "Dad?"

"I figure we could go out someplace." I look around the cramped motel room. "We don't really have a kitchen, so cooking's out of the question. You know any good places?"

"There's a burger joint in town." He shrugs. "The food's pretty good."

"Good enough for me." I stand and grab my jacket, heading for the door. Once outside Sam moves for the passenger door.

"Sam give Dean shotgun."

"Fine" he grumbles, pulling the seat forward, settling into the back seat.

"You even big enough for the front seat?" Dean jokes as he gets in.

"Ha ha" Sam deadpans.

When Dean's settled in the seat beside me he runs his hand and along the leather of the door, his eyes taking in the car.

"Looks different when you're not trying to steal her, huh?"

He snorts. "Not as fun when there's no risk."

"Wait," Sam grips the front seat, pulling himself forward so his face is between ours. "You _were_ the guy my dad was talking to that first night. Were you trying to steal the Impala?"

Dean's eyes shift to me, panicked.

"Yeah, that was him. But it was a misunderstanding." Dean's expression morphs into gratitude and he relaxes against the seat.

"Oh." Sam nods, settling back against his seat.

"Speaking of which, you gonna tell me who your partner in crime was?

And the panic is back.

"Who?" Dean asks, feigning innocence.

"The guy you were distracting me from. His name was Jack right?"

"Oh, him."

"Yeah, him."

"He's no one." He says. "Just this guy from the neighborhood."

I look over at him, his hands gripping tight to his legs.

I give him an out. "So where's this place?"

His hands release. "Just follow this road until you hit town."

Traffic is light as Dean directs me through a few more turns, finally coming to a stop in front of a small building, the smell of burgers and grilled chicken wafting through the open door.

"I'm starving." Sam says.

The smells make my mouth water as we step through the door. We're seated in a booth near a window, an older couple just finishing their meal behind us.

"I can pay you back for this." Dean says as we sit.

"No. Sammy's right, he owes you this for saving his sorry ass at school the other day." I reach for Sam's hair. "He'll be paying _me_ back later."

Sam shakes my hand off. "Yeah, Dad. Right."

The waitress comes to take our orders. When she leaves, Dean laughs, turning to Sam.

"Dude, you order a salad from a burger joint? A salad?"

"What? It's what I wanted to eat."

"Yeah, but that's like – well, it's just gotta be against the law or something."

"That's what I've tried telling him for years." I say. "I gave up a long time ago."

"You guys laugh it up. But I'll get the last laugh when you both drop dead of a heart attack."

If something else doesn't get me first.

When our food comes, Dean immediately starts in on his burger, melted cheese and flecks of bacon falling from between his hands. By the time I take my first bite, half his burger is gone with not so much as a breath between bites. When he looks up, we're both watching him.

"Sorry...guess I was hungry." He puts the burger down.

"No, it's fine. You can order another if you want."

"No, it's cool. This one's good."

I pick my own burger up, taking a bite. "So, how long you been working at the convenience store?"

"About two years."

"You like it?"

He shrugs "Not really. It was just the only place that would hire me before sixteen. I've been trying to get the garage to hire me, but they say they won't until I'm eighteen." He takes another bite. "But in a few months I can get a job at one of auto part stores or a tire shop or something at least."

"You know a lot about cars?" I ask. "Besides how to hot wire them?"

He snorts around his burger. "Yeah. You know, they're pretty awesome. You figure out what's wrong, you fix it. Nothin' more to it. They can't talk back, there's no emotion. They're just...cars."

"I get that." I motion my thumb towards Sam. "I've been trying to get Sammy here interested in cars since birth. Just isn't working though."

He glares at me, working on a mouthful of salad.

"What _do_ you like Sam?" Dean asks.

"Um. I don't know." He says as he finishes his bite. "I like school, and reading, soccer and stuff."

"You pretty smart?"

"I guess." Sam says shrugging. "My last school wanted me to skip a grade."

He never told me that. "They did?"

Sam tilts his head towards me. "Yeah."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I don't know." He shrugs again. "What would of been the point? We'd just have to move again and I'd probably be held back at the next school."

"You still should have told me."

"It's not really that big a deal." He says. "I mean, I don't want to give the other kids another reason to think I'm a major freak." I look at his clenched jaw, the white knuckles of the hand holding his fork.

I'm about to argue but Dean beats me to it.

"You're not a freak Sam." He says. "All those other kids, they're the ones with the problem."

"Oh yeah?" Sam says, doubt in his voice. He stabs his fork into his salad.

"Yeah." Dean continues. "They just don't understand what's different. It scares them."

Sam doesn't respond.

"Trust me dude. You just gotta learn how to ignore 'em."

Sam finally nods, his jaw is still tight, but he at least loosens the death grip on his fork.

It falls silent again, just the sounds of our chewing and Sam's fork scrapping around his plate.

"So you live with your stepdad?" I ask Dean.

He hesitates, his mouth faltering as he bites into the burger.

"Uh, yeah, and my mom."

"What are they like?"

He shrugs. "Mom works a lot. And my stepdad...we don't really get along."

I gesture to his face. "He give you those?"

He goes back to eating his burger, refusing to meet my eyes. "The bruises? No those were from that fight I got suspended for."

I don't buy the lie, but let it go.

"Where's your dad?"

"He's dead."

The edge to his voice tells me he's done talking about his family.

"I'm sorry." I hesitate, finding myself mouthing the words I haven't spoken in years, outside of Joanne Hennessey the other day.

"My wife...Sammy's mother, died too."

He looks up at that, first at Sam, finally settling on me. "Really?"

"Yeah. Sammy was just an infant."

"Sorry." Dean says.

I look into his face, at the deep understanding I see there. For the first time I think I may see what Sammy sees in this kid.

* * *

With our plates clear, we head back outside.

"Thanks again." Dean says, shaking my hand. "I really appreciate it."

He gives Sam a hi five. "I'll see you at school tomorrow." He starts to walk in the opposite direction when I stop him.

"Where you going?"

"Home." He says in confusion.

"I'll give you a ride."

"Oh, no. That's fine, I can walk."

"It's no problem."

He thinks about it for a second, then shrugs. "If you're sure."

* * *

I pull up to his house, dodging two stray dogs, and look through his window. If Dean hadn't been sitting next to me, I would have thought I got the wrong address. Even by our standards, this place is a dump.

The small square of a house is faded orange, the wood siding falling apart, slivers of paint flaking into the weeds below. Overgrown grass covers the surrounding land, so tall it almost obscures the thick strands of barbed wire strung between posts, enclosing the property. Dean steps from the Impala and heads for the fence, careful around the trash that litters the cracked asphalt. He kicks at a beer can, the aluminum clanging against the ground as it rolls, finally settling somewhere deep within the weeds. The grass parts slightly around him as he walks to the front door.

He turns once and waves, Sammy leaning from the passenger window to wave back. He pulls the door open and I wait for the light to come through the plastic tarp covering the window.

But in never does.


	6. Chapter 6: An Unexpected Visitor

A/N: **There's mentions of child abuse in this chapter. Nothing too graphic but be warned.**

* * *

A knock on the door breaks my concentration. I snap my head towards the sound out of annoyance, my eyes blurry and unfocussed from hours of reading.

The springs of Sammy's bed creak as he extricates himself from the weapons surrounding him. He sets the rag he's holding on the bed and moves towards the door.

He's already halfway there when I realize nobody knows we're here other than the manager who would call, and the cops who are long gone for the day.

"Wait, Sammy." I whisper, but it's too late, his eye is already looking through the peephole, his hands flat against the flimsy wood.

I stand from my chair, concern creeping through my senses.

But he simply turns, his brows furrowed. "It's Dean."

He moves for the door handle, his fingers ghosting over it.

"Wait!" I called under my breath, gesturing around the room. "Help me hide this stuff."

He looks back to the guns on his bed. "Oh, right."

Turning back to the door, he calls out. "Hold on a sec Dean, my dad's just getting dressed."

I hear a muffled reply through the door as I lunge for the table, grabbing the books and papers in my arms and shoving them in the bag. Sam pulls the comforter over the weapons behind me, placing the pillows on top to hide the lumps.

My eyes roam the room. "We're good Sam." I motion my head towards the door.

He pulls the door open and stands there, obscuring Dean from my view. But when he steps aside and Dean moves through the threshold, the damage is clear.

Both eyes are swollen, the left one almost shut, the right following close behind. A deep purple blooms across the pale skin around both, reaching across a jagged cut on his left eyebrow, ending near the hairline. Uncomfortable with our probing gazes he sucks in his mouth, flinching slightly as he jars a split on the lower lip, blood still oozing from the swollen wound. His nose looks crooked and the remnants of a bloody nose are still visible below both nostrils, cobwebs of smeared blood trailing along his bruised cheeks

He's hunched over where he stands, his right arm held protectively against his stomach. It looks like he's using all his strength to hold himself upright, and I cant help but wonder how he walked the mile from his house. His gaze is focused somewhere behind us and he won't acknowledge either Sam or I.

I move towards him and he snaps out of it with a jolt, his head jerking towards my approaching footsteps, shuffling backwards before stumbling into the door. He almost falls, but Sam's there, holding him up, his legs shaking with the strain.

"Whoa. Easy there." I say as I reach for him. "Come here."

I grab hold of his arm and help him to my bed. He drops heavy on the edge, finally looking up to me with weary eyes.

"What happened?" I ask.

"I uh...got into a fight."

"No shit. Who was it?"

His eyes drift to the side again.

"Your step father?" I offer when he doesn't talk.

For a long time nothing happens. But when he does finally give an answer, the nod is almost imperceptible, a slight dipping of his head.

Anger flairs inside me, the thought of a grown man doing this much damage to a kid. Over and over again judging from the healing bruises.

My foot kicks out, the twinge as it strikes against the bed post instantly settling my nerves. I sense a jerked movement from Dean and when I look back his eyes are watching me, wide and fearful.

"Sorry." I grunt.

He swallows hard. "Sorry. I ah...I couldn't think of anywhere else to go. If this is a bad time, I can..." He gestures towards the door.

"No, no. It's not you I'm mad at." He seems to relax, but only slightly. "Think you could handle a shower? You should probably get cleaned up."

He nods, moving to stand again.

"There should be a clean towel in there. Just, uh...take your time."

He shuts the door. It takes a while for the water to turn on and I can imagine his labored movements, working to get the clothes off without jarring anything. It's the same thing I've done after countless hunts gone wrong.

The water starts and I vaguely hear Sammy's voice. He's looking at me, his face pale as the sheets on the bed. The sheets hiding the guns.

"Shit!" I move for the guns.

"Help me get these to the car before he comes back out."

As fast as we can without damaging them we put the guns back together and carry them out to the trunk. Just as soon as we shut the door behind us on the last trip I hear the water turn off.

I think of the blood stained clothes Dean was wearing and move back to the bathroom door.

"Hey Dean," I say knocking. "I have some clothes out here you can borrow. They may be a little big, but they should be good enough."

"Thanks." He calls as he opens it a crack and I hand the clothes through. A few minutes later he steps through. With his arms bare, I see bruises wrapping his wrists and forearms, suspiciously in the shape of fingerprints.

"So you wanna tell me what happened?" I ask when he's settled on the bed again, pulling the comforter around his shoulders.

"Not really." His voice is low. I stare at him until he lets out a deep, ragged breath and slumps his shoulders.

"It was just a fight with my step father." He shrugs. "Nothing new."

"What was it about?"

He huffs, his anger almost tangible. "I don't even know. He just started wailing on me as soon as I stepped through the door."

I reach for the flashlight from my pack. "Come here." He obeys, but he's watching my movements too close. His muscles tense as I tilt his head back, shining the light in each eye.

"Well you don't have a concussion at least."

I look at the split lip, the cut above his eyebrow. "These should probably be stitched."

I reach in the pack again, this time grabbing for the first aid kit.

"You always keep a first aid kid on you?" Dean says.

"You never know." I pull the needle and thread out. "This'll hurt...I don't really have anything to numb it with."

"It's fine. It's not the first time."

I look up at him, my brows creasing.

"I ah...got a bad infection from a cut once when I was a kid." He fingers the bedspread. "We can't really afford the hospital, so I learned how to take care of myself pretty quick."

And just like that I have a new found respect for this kid.

"I'll be as careful as I can." I look at the cuts. "Eyebrow or lip first?"

"Doesn't matter."

Dean flinches, gritting his teeth hard as I push the needle through the skin just above his eyebrow. I move slow, but can't help Dean's occasional flinches when the needle pierces the skin too deep.

When I'm finished, the black stitches stand stark against his pale skin. A crooked track cutting a line through his forehead before disappearing into his eyebrow.

I move to his lip. His mouth twitches violently and his body jolts when I pinch the tip of the deep cut between my thumb and forefinger. He's clutching the bedspread tight, his arm almost shaking. The adrenaline must be wearing out. I move slower, being as gentle as I can, but I can sense pain with every movement.

When I'm done I grab a Vicodin from the first aid kit, handing it to Dean.

"Here, take this."

He eyes it, taking it between his fingers. "What is it?"

"It'll help."

He pops it in his mouth, swallowing it dry. He shakes his head, smirking slightly. "I don't get you guys."

"You can have my bed tonight." I say.

"No. I -I couldn't. I can just sleep on the floor."

"Not looking like that you're not." I say. "Me and Sammy can share his bed."

He nods, his eyelids drooping.

"I think it's kicking in." He says, his head bobbing. He lifts his hands to his face, looking back and forth between them, wiggling his fingers.

"I'll just rest for a little while..." He says just before he's out, still sitting upright, his chin coming to rest against his chest.

I maneuver him so he's laying on the bed. I hear Sammy's voice as I pull the covers up around him.

"Dad?"

"Yeah, Sammy."

"Is he OK?" His voice is shaking.

I turn around, placing a hand in his hair. "Yeah, he's fine."

"What happened to him?"

My jaw tightens at the images that come to mind. I'm going to kill his step father next time I see him.

Sammy squirms under my hand. "Ow."

I look down at my hand gripping tight to his hair, pulling at the scalp.

I let go like he's on fire. "Sorry Sammy."

He reaches up and rubs at the sore spot.

I grab for his sweats, tossing them to his outstretched hand. "Lets get some sleep."

I flip off the light and we slip in the sheets, the small bed cramped as we lay with our backs mirroring each other trying not to fall off the edge.

* * *

I wake with Sammy's limbs sprawled over mine. He's still asleep, his head turned towards me, breaths coming out in puffs against my neck. I grab his left arm and leg, pushing him to his own side before slipping from the bed. Once I'm out, he rolls back over, reclaiming the bed as his own.

I move over to Dean who's still fast asleep, laying where I left him the night before. I check his eyes again, the pupils constricting as they should with the penlight. I press my fingers to his neck, letting go when I'm satisfied with his heart rate. As I'm rechecking the stitches on his eyebrow he stirs, moaning as he comes awake, finally jolting his eyes open and pushing away from me. His eyes are wide and his breaths fast until he realizes it's me standing over him and his face relaxes with recognition.

"Hey." He finally says.

"You feeling any better?"

"Yeah." But his eyes are squinting, his shoulders rigid.

"Try again." I hand him a couple ibuprofen, which he takes without complaint. Soon enough the effects kick in and his body starts to relax.

"I gotta pee." He pushes himself from the bed, carefully sliding to the floor and moving for the bathroom.

My eyes go wide when I see the spot he was just occupying and I snap my head around to his back, catching sight the blood seeping through the shirt.

"What the hell?"

He turns back around.

"Wha-" Then he sees the bed too.

"Oh, shit." He rushes back over, grabbing the bloody sheets in a ball. "I'll ah...is there a laundromat around here?"

"I don't care about that. What's the hell's wrong with your back?"

"It's nothing."

"Let me see then."

"No, I-"

I grab for the hem of the shirt anyway, carefully pulling it higher.

Broad lines cross his back, wrapping towards his stomach, barely an inch of skin untouched. Blood seeps from a few cuts where the skin is broken, red and puffy between the bruises. What's worse is I spot healed ones too, raised scar tissue hidden under the fresh marks.

"Let go!" He tries to pull away, but I put a hand on his shoulder, grounding him.

"Why didn't you tell me about these last night?"

"I just forgot about them. It's no big deal!" He says, still trying to get free.

"Jesus Dean, there's healed scars under here to. How long's this been going on?"

He sighs in resignation and stops struggling against my hand. "It doesn't matter."

"It does. Some of these could be infected."

"They're not, I cleaned them out last night."

"Some are deep." I brush my finger against one, and his body lurches. "They may need to be stitched."

"They're fine! Just leave them –"

Sam starts to stir on the bed and Dean stops talking. He finally stills again, digging deeper into the bedspread.

"Just leave them alone." Dean finishes, softer. "I mean look at my back, what's a few more scars?"

"Let me just stitch some of these." I say, still probing his back. "I'll stop asking about them if you let me."

"Fine." He huffs.

I grab the first aid kit again and start in. I clean the blood from the wounds and prod my fingers around the cuts. Most are superficial, but a few are too deep to heal on their own. I grab the needle and thread again, and start on one just below his right shoulder blade.

I notice a bruise, bigger than the rest, on his side. "What's this?"

He looks where I'm pointing. "The buckle." I almost didn't hear it.

"The belt buckle?" He nods his head

"Jesus."

"So you want to tell me what happened?" I ask after a beat.

It's quiet for a long time, Sammy's breaths breaking the silence.

I'm halfway through the second cut when Dean finally takes a deep, shaky breath.

"He was drunk." He starts. "Came at me as soon as I walked through the door, yelling shit at me. _Where you been? You gettin' in more trouble? _Blah blah blah. And the whole time he's pounding on me with his fists."

He closes his eyes. "Mom was there too. Just sat there on the couch, turned the other way. Wouldn't even look at me, barely even flinched." His fists are clenched tight at his side, a muscle twitching in his jaw.

"Then at some point he got me on the ground." He huffs out. "I don't even know how that happened. One second he has me against the wall, his fists in my kidneys. Next thing I know I'm lying on the ground, and he's straddling me, punching my face."

He flinches as I tie off the second cut.

"I felt my nose crack. The blood was flowing all over my face." He pauses as I start in on the third cut.

"I tried bringing my hands up, but he had them under his knees. He punched me again on the same spot. I think I passed out for a second 'cuz he was gone when my eyes opened again."

"I should of just left then, but...I don't know, I didn't." He throws his head to the side, shaking it as he huffs again. "God, I had my chance and I just lay their like some idiot."

I want to tell him how wrong that is, but I'm afraid to break his momentum.

"I guess I was thinkin' it was over, that he went out to the bar again or something. I don't know how much later it was, but I realized I passed out again when he kicked me in the ribs with his boot, flipping me on my stomach."

I finish with the cut and move to sit beside him.

"Then I felt his belt against my back. I wasn't expecting it." He shakes his head. "I should have though. He kept swinging it over and over. He flipped it at some point, so he's using the buckle. And the entire time he's yelling things."

He stops, and I can see in his faraway gaze that he's back in that room, lying on the floor. His breaths speed up.

_Useless_

_Lazy_

_Stupid_

He flinches slightly with each word.

"Hey." I say softly, placing my hand on his neck. But he's still not with me.

_No good_

flinch

_Retarded_

flinch

"Dean." I say it louder than I want and he jumps, but it does the trick.

"You back?" I ask.

He nods.

"So I'm still lying there, my face in the carpet and I look ahead of me at the couch."

Jesus, there's more?

"It's broken...one of the legs." He furrows his eyebrows. "I can't even remember how that happened anymore."

He stops talking again.

He twitches his head. "Yeah, anyway it's really just there to keep the couch level. It's not even connected anymore. I was just close enough that I could grab it, so I did and I swung my arm around, trying to stand up."

He finally looks over at me. "And I slammed it in his temple, hard. And he sort of stood there for a couple seconds, swaying a little bit. I reach back to hit him again, but he drops."

"Is he –" I start.

"No." He rushes to add. "At least I don't think so. The room started spinning and I kind of fell on top of him. I could feel him breathing."

"Good." I say.

"But my mom made me leave, said I shouldn't be there when he wakes up." He nods, blinking slow. "She's probably right."

His eyes are wild when he looks into mine. "He's gonna kill me when he finds me again."

* * *

A/N:** Thanks again for the reviews, I love getting them. I'm not really sure about this chapter, but I wanted to get it out. So I hope it turned out OK.**


	7. Chapter 7: Breakthrough

A/N:** For nlrlcsw: they are completely unrelated, Dean is not Mary or John's son. Sorry for the confusion. And sorry for anybody who was waiting for that big twist, but it's not coming. Hopefully it doesn't ruin the story for you.**

**And thanks again for the comments, especially NongPradu and rosebudgirl for being regulars, it's much appreciated.**

* * *

Monday couldn't have come any sooner.

This hunt's hard enough to figure out on its own, but trying to keep it hidden with Dean ten feet away makes it damn near impossible.

Not that it was his fault. I wasn't about to force him back on his step father after what he told me, but I could tell he was getting suspicious. Besides the fact, I _will_ eventually end this thing, and then what? Taking Dean isn't an option, but the thought of his step father getting his hands on him again makes me furious enough to kill.

But the new week at least gives me the reprieve of school. Seven hours of working double time hoping to finally catch a break. It doesn't help that my mind keeps straying, working out what to do with Dean. Or that I have to continually resist the urge to drive over to his house and show his step father exactly what I think of him.

My first break finally comes in the form of a phone call from Bobby.

His voice comes on the line as soon as I pick up. "I think I got something good for you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Talked to a guy down in Mexico near a place called Saltillo. Says he may have something for you."

"Mexico? Bobby how the hell am I supposed to get there? We don't have passports."

"I'm working on that too. I know a guy in San Antonio, owes me a favor." He pauses. "Thing is he'll only do one."

I nod to myself. "That's fine, Sammy can stay with Dean."

"Who?"

That's right, he doesn't know.

I hesitate, not knowing the best tactic. "The car thief."

"What?" I hear his bewilderment through the line.

"Yeah. It's a long story, but we took him to dinner the other day. He's really not that bad of a kid actually. Then he showed up at our room the other night beat to hell." My hand grips the phone tighter. "His stepfather." I spit out.

Bobby doesn't immediately respond, but I can picture him seething.

Once a couple years ago after a few too many he started talking about the things his son of a bitch father used to do to him as a kid. Though he won't admit it, he's got a soft spot for screwed up kids.

"That bastard." He finally hisses.

"Well Dean's kind of living with us now. I didn't know what else to do with him."

"He doesn't have any other family?"

"I don't really know." I say. "Listen Bobby, I'll figure Dean out. But I called you about this case. What about the passport."

"Yeah." He gives me an address. "He'll get it done for you. He's also got your car covered."

"My car?"

"You don't think the arsenal in your trunk would really make it across the border."

"Right." I say. "And what is in Mexico?"

"Ah. He's an old timer, wouldn't tell me about it over the phone. Wanted you to come down in person. He says he's seen the same thing all over Mexico."

"So this thing's going international?"

"Looks like it." He gives me another address which I scribble in the journal. "That's where he'll be."

* * *

At four Sam and Dean step through the door.

"Listen Sam, I gotta jet for a few days." I head for the door. "You know what to do."

Before I can step outside, Dean is in front of me. "What do you mean 'you know what to do'?"

"What are you doing?" I say, trying to push him aside but he holds his ground.

"There's something weird going on with you guys. You can't really think I haven't noticed the books or the pictures, and that you leave every time you use the phone. Or the gun." My hand unconsciously goes to the gun I keep at my waist.

"Listen Dean, I know it probably seems odd but I really have to go. _Now_." I try to push past him again.

"Is this what you do? You leave him for days at a time? No warning, nothing."

Sam speaks up. "It's not that big a deal really. He's been gone for longer."

I shoot Sam a glare and he shuts up.

"He's fine, he knows how to handle himself."

"He's 11! How can he know how to take care of himself?" He looks over at Sam. "How do you not even see how messed up that is?" He throws at him.

"You don't know the first thing about it." I say, my voice rising over Sammy's response. "He's fine with it."

"I am." Sam says. "Really."

"Shut up Sam." Dean says, and Sam listens.

"What if he gets hurt?" Dean continues

"Then he'd call Bobby. Listen, get out of the way, I gotta go." I try to get through but he mirrors my movements.

"What if he couldn't get to the phone. What then?" He pauses, and when he speaks again his voice is low. "Would you even care?"

My nerves are stressed like a fraying rope and I do the last thing I wanted.

And I regret it as soon as I do.

Gripping Dean's jacket tight I slam him into the wall beside the door, his feet dangling a few inches from the ground. He grunts out as his back makes contact.

"Now you listen good. You don't know the first thing about me and Sam." It comes out as a growl. "You don't know what I would do for my son."

"Get off!" He claws at my arms, desperately trying to get free. His breaths are pained gasps.

I look at the fading bruises on his face, my eyes taking in the stitches still holding his skin together.

Then I remember his disfigured back, the battlefield of scars now pressed tight against the wall. I gently lower him, and he almost topples as his feet hit the floor.

"Dean, I'm –"

"Don't start." He interrupts as he staggers to gain his balance. He pierces me with a menacing gaze, reaching for the door handle behind his back, throwing it open. He races across the parking lot, finally disappearing into the trees.

"Damn it." I say, watching his retreating back.

* * *

After checking the convenience store, the school, downtown, driving by his house, I'm out of ideas.

"Come on Sammy. Where would he go!"

"I don't know!" He's on the verge of tears. "You're the one who made him leave. This is all your fault!"

I need to calm down, this isn't doing any good. I wring my hands around the steering wheel and count to ten.

"Do you know what he liked to do?"

"He liked cars and music."

We check the record store, the auto shops and garages. But still nothing.

"What about friends? Did he know anybody else?"

"Not that I know of. He was pretty much always alone."

"There's gotta be someplace we're not thinking of."

A stifling silence falls between us.

"Why did you have to do that?" Sam grits out. "He was my _only_ friend."

"Damn it Sam, It's not like I meant to."

"Even if we do find him he's probably gonna hate us now." He looks out the window, his voice quieting. "He'll probably never wanna come back."

"We'll find him Sammy." I say. "Just keep looking."

* * *

When it's been an hour without any sign of Dean I move to turn the car around.

"There!" I follow Sam's finger to a lone figure sitting huddled over a small stone grave marker.

Of course. His dead father.

I pull the car through the gate and park not twenty feet from where he's sitting.

He doesn't notice us at first, his head still bowed. When I slam my door, his head jerks towards us and he jumps to his feet, backing away.

"Wait." I say, my hands held harmlessly in front of me. "Just give me a minute."

He slows, but continues his shuffle backward. His eyes slide past me to where Sam's rounding the hood of the Impala, stopping a few feet behind me. Dean halts his retreat, but watches me wearily.

"I'm sorry, OK." I say. "At the motel, I was...I went about that the wrong way."

Dean snorts, but keeps his mouth shut.

"But there are things you don't understand," I continue. "Things you _can't_ understand."

He starts to argue but I cut him off.

"Just let me finish." He quiets. "I know our lives our screwed up in a big way. And that maybe I do put too much pressure on Sammy. Hell, I know I do. But..." I try to think of the right words. "But, there are things out there that you can't even begin to imagine. The things of nightmares. And believe it or not this is how it has to be to keep Sammy safe."

"That's bullshit." Dean responds.

I take a chance and move forward.

"It's –" I stop when my eyes catch sight of the grave marker. At the etching engraved in the stone.

I snap my head up to Dean.

"Ben Markenson was your father? Is Kathy your mom?"

"Yeah, so?"

"He was attacked by something when your family was camping."

"What the hell does that have to do with anything?" Then his face scrunches in confusion. "Wait, how did you know."

"It's a long story." I say. "Can you tell me what happened?"

"Why?"

"Listen, I can't explain why, but it's important. Really important."

He still won't talk.

I sigh in resignation. "Tell you what, you tell me about your father's death, and I'll tell you everything. Why Sammy and I are always moving, why we live out of motels, why I have to leave him alone so much." I take the gun from my belt and wave it in the air. "Why I have this."

"How do I know you're telling me the truth?"

"You don't." I simply say. "Come here Sammy." I call behind me

He moves next to me. "Sammy, knows everything just as well as I do." I angle my face towards him. "Sammy, you promise to tell Dean everything if I don't?"

He nods back. "Yeah, I promise."

I look back to Dean. "Even if you don't trust me, you trust Sammy don't you?"

Dean's eyes flick between us before finally nodding.

"My parents fought...a lot back then." He says. "They were going through a separation and the camping trip was supposed to get them back together. A last ditch effort, you know." He stops, blinking slow, shaking his head. "The fighting started almost as soon as we got up there..."

"_Damn it Kathy!" Ben slices the air with his open hand, motioning to the tent. "You set it wrong."_

_ "Give it a rest Ben. It's exactly right" Shes looting through one of the bags. "Where's the camera? I ask you to do one simple thing and you can't even do that right." She shakes her head. "Useless" It's muttered under her breath, but clear enough for Ben to hear._

_ "Mom? Dad?" Dean calls out, but both adults are too angry with the other to pay any attention._

_ Tuning their fighting out, Dean walks from the campsite until he's far enough the bitter words being thrown around are no longer in earshot. He finds a rock and sits, jabbing a stick in the ground, the wood splintering with the force. Within minutes Ben comes trampling through the overgrown grass, bushes crunching under his heavy boots._

_ "Dad!" Dean launches himself to his feet, following a few feet behind. "Where are you going?"_

_ "Out." Ben throws over his shoulder, picking up the pace until Dean's short legs are unable to carry him fast enough. Heading back for the campsite, Dean finds the area empty, the tent closed up tight. He walks over and scratches lightly at the canvas._

_ "Mom?" He calls in a near whisper._

_ "Dean. Why don't you take one of the fishing poles to the lake." She calls through the zippered door, her voice shaking with unshed tears. "Try and catch us something for dinner, OK baby."_

_ "But mom –"_

_ "Just go Dean." She snaps. "Leave me alone for a little bit." She says softer. There's a shuffling inside, then muffled crying._

_ Unsure what to do, Dean heads back in the direction his dad left, sweating in the hot desert air, his feet dragging through the tall grass, careful to avoid the sharp cacti and flowering bushes. He periodically calls for his dad, hoping to hear an echoed reply in the air. _

_ But no sound meets his ears._

_ When Dean is nearly a mile in, the sky grows darker, a storm gathering overhead. A wailing cry pierces the silence. He stops suddenly, listening to the faint sound. _

_ "Is anybody there?" He calls out and the sound stops. _

_ He rushes in the direction he hopes it was coming from, expecting to come across another family, hoping they've crossed paths with his dad. His arms are pumping as fast as they can manage, his fists closed tight, punching the air as he runs. He crashes through the bushes, the unforgiving branches gnawing at his arms and legs, leaving long trailing lines of red across his skin, beads of blood bubbling to the surface. _

_ When his shaking legs are close to the point of exhaustion, he catches a flash in the corner of his eye. He stops dead and snaps his head towards the movement. Not knowing what to expect, he's surprised to find his dad standing with his head pointed towards the clouds, quietly whistling a slightly familiar tune._

_ When he's about to step out and call for his father, an enormous owl swoops towards the man, her broad snowy wings spread wide, cupping the air around her. Her feet are spread, poised to grab him in her talons._

_ It's not the size that initially gets Dean's attention, or the fact that it's headed straight for his dad, but it's the fact that the owl has the face of a woman. And she's beautiful._

_ Fear throws Dean to the ground, the grass swallowing him whole, tickling at his arms as they rest against the dirt. The first droplets of rain fall down on him as he risks a glance just as his father is picked up by the owl. When the screaming starts, Dean has to look away, forcing his face deep into the crook of his arm. _

_ The agonizing screams last an eternity for Dean, the sound suffocating him, consuming him with despair as he digs his nails into his arms, drawing blood. It stops with a sudden finality, the air still once again. He risks another look up, and his stomach drops when he sees the owl's face pointed straight to where he's hiding. She starts creeping towards him slowly, but panic roots him to the ground. Then the adrenaline kicks in and he throws himself to his feet, running blind through the bushes, tripping over roots and rocks, trying to keep his momentum moving forward. He can hear the owl picking up her pace behind him until a deep swishing breaks the air behind him. He turns his head for a second as she lifts off the ground, soaring gracefully through the air, gaining speed with each beat of her wings. He turns back around just as the talons fill the air above him, poised to grab hold of his hair. _

_ Bracing for the pain Dean closes his eyes. _

_ And then the ground falls away below him._

_ But rather than the expected pain, water cushions his fall, the warm liquid embracing him._

_ He thrashes his arms around him in a panic, thrusting himself upwards. As his head breaks the surface, he gasps for breath, throwing his eyes open. He was so focused on escape, he didn't see the spring he was beelining for._

_ His ragged, desperate breaths calm. Until he brings his eyes upwards. _

_ His heart almost leaps from his chest and he yells out when he sees the owl circling above him, her face just feet from his._

_ "Go! Leave!" Dean yells, his voice frantic, his arms slicing through the water, splashing the air around him with a frenzied spray. _

_ The owl lets out a pained screech in response, moving higher, keeping out of the waters trajectory. _

_ Realizing the effect the water has on her, Dean keeps splashing until she flies higher, finally disappearing into the branches of the trees above. _

_ Figuring he's safe as long as he's drenched, Dean climbs from the water, heading back for the campsite, and for his mom._

_ Dean looks behind him, finding the owl perched near the top of the tree. Her eyes follow his retreat, but she never comes after him._

* * *

"I went back to my mom and explained what happened. But she didn't believe me. Nobody did." Dean says. "They all tried to tell me it was just the stress, PTSD or something. But I know what I saw." His eyes are guarded as he looks into mine.

"And she just stayed perched after you left?"

"Yeah."

"Did you see her again after that?"

"No. I finally got my mom out of the tent and brought her to where my..." He falters, his chest quivering with a deep shuddering breath. "To my dad. But by the time we got there, she was gone."

I nod. "There's one thing I don't get." I say.

"Yeah, what's that?"

"The news article I read said you and your mom both went out looking for your dad together, you both heard the cry."

He looks away embarrassed. "Yeah...the separation was really hard on my mom. I was living with her at the time, but she was kind of out of her mind on anxiety pills. The school called a complaint to child services. They gave her a warning, but we didn't want to give them any reason to take me away after that weekend." He shrugs his shoulders. "So we lied."

What makes even less sense is the fact they'll call child services on neglect. But Dean shows up bruised to school almost every day and nothing happens. Another reason to beat the shit out of his stepfather when I see him.

"So you believe me?" Dean asks, breaking me from my thoughts.

"Yes" I nod my head. "I do." I say it with such a firm decisiveness that he has no choice but to believe me.

"I didn't imagine it?"

"No, I don't think so. And I think it's what's been killing the others around here."

"Really?"

"Yeah. That's why Sam and me are here. It's what we've been trying to figure it out." I put a hand on his neck. "I think you may have finally given me the breakthrough that I need."

"Yeah?"

I nod. "And that's why I need to leave Sammy. I found someone who may know something about it. Might know how to get rid of it."

"So this is what you guys do then?" Dean says. "You travel around the country, getting rid of these kinds of things."

"More or less, yeah."

"Huh."

"I know it probably seems odd, but it's just how it is."

"No. I think it's cool. You guys save people."

"If only Sammy could see it that way."

"Dad." he whines.

"What's so bad with it Sam?" Dean asks. "I mean you guys are like heroes."

Sammy just shrugs.

Dean peers back up at me. "I could stay with Sam. I mean if you're OK with it." He says. "You know, so he's not alone this time."

"I couldn't ask you to do that Dean." I say.

"It's not like I have anywhere else to go."


	8. Chapter 8: Crossing Borders

A/N:** I kind of messed something up on the last chapter. I went back and changed it. Nothing big, but small details for continuity with chapter 9, hopefully you won't even notice it. Also, I have no idea how to get a fake Passport or get into Mexico, or much Spanish so I had to gloss over those parts. Hopefully it's not too unrealistic, but hey, I tried at least. **

**Also, I wanted to give a shout out to AlecDeanFan. Thanks so much for all the comments. Every chapter, wow! Just a couple notes from what you said, I'm kind of picturing teen Dean from the Season 9 episode, so hence the brown hair. And good guess with the harpy, but that's not it...as you will see in this chapter. Thanks again!**

* * *

The address Bobby gives me is in a seedy neighborhood of San Antonio. The towering skyscrapers of downtown sit looming a few blocks to the east, the glass glinting orange in the dying sun. Boarded up houses and dead grass line the street as my eyes search for number 1419. I almost miss it, the nine flipped on it's nail, but a look at the neighboring houses tells me I'm where I need to be. I pull up alongside three synched bags of garbage sitting on the curb.

Just inside the chain link fence a concrete strip cuts across the patchy lawn to the porch of a small bungalow. I climb the stairs carefully, mindful of the warped wood dipping precariously in the center and knock. I step back and catch sight of two men on the corner, looking suspiciously at the Impala when the door opens in my face.

"You Bobby's friend?" The guy says in greeting. I nod my confirmation and he motions me inside his house.

"My car safe on the street?"

"Probably not," He walks down a couple steps, throwing open the door to the garage. "Pull it in here."

I do, then he leads me to another room just off the back of the garage, an addition. Against the far end of the room sits a camera on a tripod pointing towards a white sheet hung flat against the wall.

"Stand there." He directs me.

I move in front of the sheet, staring at the camera with my lips curved. The camera flashes, and he moves for the desk sitting against the wall to the left, hooking the camera to a wire snaking from behind a clunky white computer. With a clacking of the keyboard and a few mouse clicks, the printer roars to life, spitting out an image.

With his back to me, I can't see what he's doing, but when he turns around he has my passport in hand, the small card looking brand new, light reflecting from the surface. I take it from his outstretched hand, flipping it in my fingers, bringing it up to my eye. It looks authentic, right down to the watermark. Much better than I'd expected.

"This is good." I say.

"Did you expect any different?" He asks.

"Guess not. Bobby said you had a car for me too."

"Yeah, follow me." He takes me back into the garage, this time moving for the door leading to the small yard behind. On the side of the house is another strip of concrete reaching for the street. In the middle sits a large lump covered by a crinkled blue tarp.

He moves to the hood, grabbing a corner of the tarp, rainwater from the recent thunderstorms dripping to the ground as he folds it back.

I'm almost ready to take my chances with the Impala when I catch sight of what's under it. He pulls it off entirely, unveiling a rusted VW bug, oxidation marring the paint. It looks like an older model, from the 50s, maybe 60s.

"Does it even start?"

"Yeah...most of the time."

I circle the car, taking in every dent and scratch. It's sitting low to the ground, the tires almost bald, the roof looking ready to cave in,

"What happened here?" I ask, pointing to the trunk where baseball sized dents litter the the door.

"Unhappy customer."

"Huh."

"Hey, I'm just glad it wasn't my head."

I lift the passport, flicking it in my fingers at him. "This better get me across the border or it will be your head this time."

He swallows thick. "It's good as authentic. Hell, even better."

"You better be right." I say. "And this car better make it too. Last thing I need is a breakdown in Mexico."

He shakes his head, though with a little much force in the action. "No...no, it should drive fine."

I nod. "So we're all covered, then?"

"Yeah, we're good. I owed this to Bobby."

* * *

Little towns mark the highway as I head for the border. The car runs surprisingly smooth, save for a slight vibration driving above 60, a full on shaking if I push 70. I keep my speed slow, watching as trucks and SUVs cruise by in the passing lane. Halfway there, I cross State Highway 85, a small sign announcing the exit to Carrizo Springs. I drive past and an hour later I'm at the border.

The road leading to the checkpoint is jammed for blocks, honking and yelling a constant as I inch forward, the car idling loudly. I look closely at the passport, searching for any indication of its falseness. I flip it in my hands, holding it up to the sun, the watermark flickering back at me. I'm five cars away when I hear shouting at the gate, and a couple seconds later a man comes weaving through the cars, dodging side view mirrors. Just a couple seconds more and two officers pass by, their batons out, slicing the air as they follow in pursuit.

Soon enough we start inching forward again until I'm three cars away, then two, one and I'm through.

Crossing into Mexico is a culture shock if I've ever had one. English immediately becomes Spanish, and I'm blind to what the billboards and signs are spewing at me with their flashy displays. The tightly packed streets bordered by low lying rows of concrete and brick stores stretch unbroken for blocks. A long shot from the suburban mix of parking, fast food, offices and car lots I left behind.

The retailers are as much outside as they are inside, street vendors trying to dupe you out of your money at every block with handcrafted clothes, hats and jewelry and authentic Mexican food.

I drive on, careful within the fast moving cars surrounding me. Traffic thins the farther I get from the border, and Mexico plates quickly tilt the scales until I'm one of a few in the minority still on the road. Soon enough the city opens to the vast plains, miles of grass and cacti reaching in all directions, broken only by small creeks snaking under the pavement and the periodic decayed structures and road crossings of civilization.

Halfway there I hit mountains, the car struggling with the elevation gain. When the road flattens again I skirt Monterrey until I finally funnel into Saltillo.

The road is dark, the hour late, and dropping in on this guy tonight would be a mistake. I find a motel near the edge of town and pay for the night.

* * *

Back on the road the next day I pull out the map, searching for the address. The place is outside the city, a few miles along what looks like a lonely road snaking through the mountains. The engine protests the steep grades, groaning as my foot gets heavy against the gas, steam bellowing from the hood. To her credit, she keeps going though, chugging her way higher until the road finally levels out and soon enough I come to a deserted road cutting through the desert. Dust flies in my wake as I'm lead to a cluster of small ramshackle buildings sitting on a dead end. The one I'm looking for is the very last, sitting hidden in the trees. I stop the car and get out to nothing but the sound of silence. I head to the building and pound my fist against the door, the wood quivering with the force. My internal count reaches 40 when the door finally opens a crack allowing me a view of the man's face.

Just as Bobby warned, the man in front of me is an old timer. His weathered face is a dark shade of tan, wrinkles cutting deep across the skin. He still has a head full of hair, the white a stark contrast against his dark skin. I can see he's missing almost a full mouth of teeth when he smiles, only a single digit showing as he smiles, growing crooked and rotten from the rounded gums of his upper jaw.

"Hola." He says through the cracked door. "John?"

I nod. "Sí." I answer, searching my mind for my long forgotten Spanish. "Amigo de Bobby?" I stutter out.

"Don't embarrass yourself." He says with a thick Spanish accent. "I speak Inglés."

I nod again. "Bobby said you might know something about what's been going on out in Texas."

He mumbles something under his breath and without another word he pushes the door open and turns back into the building. I follow as he stumbles along, his back curved and his weight heavy against the cane gripped tight in his trembling hand. I take a seat on the chair across the couch he's settled himself into.

"Bobby says the same kind of thing's been happening here." I start. "The attacks, the crying..."

"Lechuza." He interrupts.

"Excuse me."

"La legendary Lechuza. That's what you got on your hands."

"What's the Lechuza?" I ask. "I've never –"

"To most, la Lechuza is just an ordinary barn owl. But to those who's minds are open, she's the elusive witch owl."

"Witch owl?"

"Sí. Son muy antiguo, been here since forever. People have seen them all over México. Looks like she's going internacional now."

"So what is she? Where does she come from?"

"As the legend goes, she is a woman scorned by her husband. To get back at him, she get's into Brujería. Black Magic. She gives herself superhuman capabilities...extreme strength, sight, hearing, speed."

"OK, so she wants to get even with her husband. Why does she keep killing?"

"You have to understand, the magic these women have gotten themselves into, it's dark, dark witchery. She carries on long enough, and she's no longer human. No longer living by human instinct. Sí, it starts out with the husband, but then it transforms, and she wants to rid the earth of all sinning men. It's fighting that draws her. And it's fighting that will bring death."

"So it's their fighting that's calling her?"

"Sí"

That makes sense with the victims. All of them were killed just after they were arguing with their wives.

"So this Lechuza waits until they're alone and goes after them?"

"Sí," he says again. "She lures them with crying, un niño."

And that explains the mysterious crying.

"What can we use against her?"

"Holy water and salt will bring her pain. This will weaken her."

Must have been holy water Dean fell into that day with his father.

"What kills her?"

"El Ave María"

My eyebrows knit in confusion.

"The Hail Mary." He clarifies.

"What? I just have to say it to her?"

That's not so bad. I could do that.

But it's what he says next that has me concerned.

"Sí. Pero it has to be said in Español , in reverse. And near perfect for it to be effective."

Just great, the extent of my Spanish a few words of greeting and a handful of expletives.

"I would brush up on your Spanish Mr. Winchester."

"Gracias." I grunt out through a harsh laugh.

The drive back to Texas is uneventful. In San Antonio, I exchange cars, glad to be back behind the wheel of the Impala. Another storm is approaching from the south, rolling gray clouds filling the windshield as I head for Carrizo Springs once again. After a pit stop at Our Lady of Guadalupe for the Spanish translated Hail Mary I drive to the motel, sleep the only thing on my mind.

As I top the last step I hear voices drifting through the open window of the motel. Seems Sam and Dean wasted no time getting to know each other.

"He ever hit you?"

My stomach drops as I wait for Sam's answer. A chill spreads through my body, freezing my hand where it barely touches the doorknob.

"Um...yeah, when I was little." He says.

"I'm gonna kill him." Dean growls.

"But he didn't mean it! It was an accident." Sam hurries to explain.

"How bad?"

Sam's silence is answer enough.

I wait for Dean's reply, hidden behind the swaying curtain. I almost jump when it comes.

"He's dead. I mean it."

"No. It was my fault. I did something stupid."

Just shut up Sam. Stop with the god damn excuses.

"Shit Sam! That doesn't matter. Whatever you did, nothing could have deserved that."

"No Dean! Don't make him out to be a bad guy. It was a mistake. He's a good dad! He's not like your stepfather!"

Not wanting to hear anymore of this I push the door open. Both their heads snap towards mine, shock written on their faces.

Dean quickly overcomes his, advancing towards me with narrowed eyes, his face red with anger.

"Wait." I put my hands up non threatening. "Just let me explain. You want to tear my head off after, go ahead. Hell, it's what I deserve."

He stops, but crosses his arms across his chest, his jaw tight as I hold his glare.

"I did hit him. But it was a long time ago. I was drunk, I was mad." Dean's eyes flare as he takes a half step. But I keep talking.

"That's not an excuse, I know what I did was wrong. But it was a mistake. A mistake that hasn't happened since, and one that I'll never let happen again."

He halts his movements, relaxing his shoulders a notch. I can see I've gotten through to him, if only a little.

I look at Sam, his arms hugging his midsection, averted eyes darting around the room.

"Just stop making excuses for me Sam." His eyes finally stop on mine as he starts to argue. "It's great that you've gotten over it." I say over him. "But it's more than I deserve. A lot more."

"But –" Sam starts.

"No Sam." I say with finality. "I can't ever forgive myself for it, and I wish you wouldn't. I don't deserve it. And you deserve more than that. All I can tell you is it won't ever happen again." Looking back at Dean, his focus is now solely on the carpet. "To either of you."

This time Dean stays quiet.


	9. Chapter 9: Lechuza

"So...what did you find out?" Dean finally asks, abruptly ending the awkward moment.

Seems like he's forgiven me. Enough to not kill at least.

"I think were dealing with a Lechuza." I say.

Sam angles his face back towards mine. "A what?"

"It's something that originates in Mexico, sounds like they're running loose over there." I look to Dean. "Guy I talked to says she's a witch that can turn herself into an owl."

"So I really wasn't hallucinating." There's a shadow of a smile on his lips as he looks down, letting out the breath he'd been holding.

"Did he tell you how to kill it?" Sam asks.

"Yeah." I say. "How's your Spanish, Sammy?"

"Not as good as my Latin." He answers after a beat.

Dean brings his head back up. "I'm pretty good at Spanish."

"Really?" I ask.

"Yeah." He shrugs. "You don't grow up in a town ninety percent Hispanic, less than an hour from the border and not pick something up."

"You think you could say the Hail Mary?"

"I don't know. Probably – if I could read it."

"Yeah." I say. "I think that would work, just as long as someone says the words."

"So that's it? That's what kills her?" Dean doesn't seem convinced.

I nod. "That's what the guy said."

"Huh." he replies. "So how do we do this?"

"We need to find her...somehow."

"How are we going to do that?" Sam asks.

That had been running through my mind the entire drive here. I'm still no closer to an answer.

Just then a thundering boom cuts through the air, reminding me of the coming storm.

"That's it!" I say.

"What." Sam asks.

I point to the still open window. "The thunderstorms."

"Yeah? What about them?" He asks

"She must be causing them. That night our neighbor was killed in the motel, there was a bad storm." I focus on Dean. "Was about when your family went camping?"

He looks away thinking, shrugging as he looks back up. "I can't really remember."

"How about the recent deaths, do you know if there were storms then?"

This time he nods. "Yeah, it's been raining a lot lately."

"That's it than. We've got to drive for the storm, find the center of it. That's where she'll be."

"What if it's just a coincidence?"

"It's not. I don't believe in coincidences."

I move for the door, grabbing my journal, throwing it at Sam who catches it in a fumble. "Come on, we gotta get moving."

As soon as Dean shuts the car door beside him I tear out of the parking lot. "Sam, grab the first sheet in the journal, give it to Dean."

"Read it over Dean. That's what you need to say when we find her." I say when Dean has the sheet in hand. "You need to say it backwards."

"OK." He mumbles as he nods, focusing on the prayer.

A few miles more of driving has the rain falling in torrents, pounding hard against the Impala. It obscures the windshield, the wipers barely able to keep up. Lightening surrounds us, sharp cracks following close behind. The storm takes an abrupt turn, heading west. I stop the Impala, debating her chances against the desert earth. They don't seem good.

I open the glovebox on Dean's knees, rooting around in it. "I know I have one in here somewhere."

Finally I spot a plastic bag. "Here." I hand it to Dean. "Put the paper in there. We've got to go on foot."

I push my door open, rain immediately drenching the seat. I move for the trunk, grabbing one of the shotguns, handing it to Dean.

"You know how to shoot?" I ask him.

"Yeah." he nods. "It's Texas." He offers as an explanation.

"Good. It's filled with rock salt. That will harm her if she gets too close." I grab the other and hand it to Sam, checking the one at my waist as I turn and run in the direction of the storm.

"What's the plan?" I barely hear Dean yell over the rain.

"We'll find her and you read the prayer. Sam and I will shoot at her if she tries anything."

"You really think this will work?" He asks.

"It sure as hell better."

I can tell we're getting closer by the storm's momentum. A lazy wind cuts through me, making me shiver against the bitter rain.

Finally I catch sight of movement ahead of us. She moves swiftly, a brilliant beacon in the dark sky, her wings cutting smooth through the air as she races towards a quickly approaching farmhouse.

Soon enough I can hear the sounds of raised voices.

This is her destination.

Taking a chance I palm my gun, pulling it from my waistband. I point it at the unsuspecting owl and shoot.

She howls, stopping her advance on the house and turning towards us.

"Now Dean!" I call.

He lifts the protected prayer and starts reading.

_Am__é__n_

_Muerte nuestra de hora la en y ahora._

She moves for us, barely slowing her speed. I raise the gun again.

_Pecadores nosotros por ruego_

I shoot a single bullet straight for her heart. Again she howls but keeps coming.

_Dios de Madre Maria Santa_

She's just 30 feet from where we're standing.

_Jes__ú__s_

10 feet. Sammy raises his gun, setting his sights on the owl.

But he doesn't have a chance to shoot. Without warning, she charges at him, grabbing his shoulders in her talons and gaining altitude.

"Sammy!" Both Dean and I yell.

Sam's arms are flailing in the air, desperately reaching for the owl's talons, straining to get free.

"Keep reading Dean!" I yell as I take aim again, this time with Sammy's fallen shotgun.

_Vientre tu de fruto el es bendito y_

A tortuous wail echos through the rain. Blood seeps from under the owls sharp claws, dripping along Sam's chest and pooling in the wrinkles of his white shirt. His struggles are fading as the owl raises higher.

Praying I won't miss I take a shot.

A loud crack reverberates through the air and the owl's body lurches. Sam falls through the air. I watch helplessly as he crashes almost thirty feet to the ground, landing in a motionless heap on the dead grass.

Dean's words stop dead when he sees Sam fall and he rushes to where he's lying.

The owl advances again but I keep shooting until I'm out of rounds. I grab for my gun again, shooting. Finally, she turns, weakened, and flies back towards Mexico.

I turn back to the boys, Dean's body flung over Sam's.

"Sam...Sammy...wake up!" He says once I'm close enough to hear the words.

"He won't wake up!" Dean calls to me.

My hands shake as my fingers find Sam's jugular.

I let out the breath I had been holding when I feel a weak but steady pulse.

"Help me get him in the car." I pick Sam up, his knees under one arm, neck under the other.

Dean pulls the door open, taking a seat on the far end of the back bench. He grabs Sam from my hands, laying his head on his thighs.

Running to the other side of the Impala I get in behind the drivers seat and peel out, pointed back towards Carrizo Springs.

I hear whispered pleads in the back seat, my own silent ones running through my head.

Once back at the motel I grab Sam from Dean's hands. Inside, I lay him flat against the bed and tear his shirt from his frail chest.

His face is too pale, blood leaking sluggishly from the deep gauges in both shoulders. A deep bruise blooms from his back, wrapping around his side where he landed.

"Sammy." I say.

No response.

I shake him, trying his name again, urgency creeping into my voice. Still he won't answer.

I turn to where Dean stands hovering above us, his hair plastered to his face, soaked clothes dripping on the carpet. "Grab the first aid kid. It's in that bag." I say pointing.

He does so in lightening speed and lays it open on the bed beside me. I grab the needle and thread and set to work putting my son back together.

His stillness through the entire process scares me more than I can ever admit to myself, and I find my fingers regularly moving to his neck as I work.

I sit back when I'm done, my hand resting against his, watching the faint rise and fall of his chest.

"John?"

I don't hear Dean at first but he repeats my name and I slowly tilt my head to his face. His eyebrows are angled together, cutting deep wrinkles through his forehead. He's fingering the healing cut on his lip as his eyes flick between mine and Sam.

"Is he going to be alright?"

"Yeah." I say, hoping there's truth in the words. "He must have just hit his head when he landed.

My focus goes back to Sammy. "We just have to wait for him to wake up." I say in a whisper.

He nods and waits a beat. "Why didn't it work?" He asks slowly.

Why didn't it work? I honestly have no idea. The guy said it would, he seemed so sure of it...so why didn't it?

"I have no idea." I answer truthfully.

"Do you think I could look at the reports? Maybe there's something we're missing."

It can't hurt, he's already into this thing this far.

"Sure, why not." I gesture to the bag. "They're in there."

He nods and moves for one of the chairs, pulling the books and papers out, throwing them on the table. He flips through the notes I'd gathered from Bobby and the printouts Sammy found at the library. He pauses at the news article, his eyes dimming as they scan through the words before slowly slipping it on the bottom of the stack. He comes to the first victim, Mark Hennessey. He looks at the autopsy photo, reads through the notes.

Then he comes to Tim Salvan.

Had I not been watching, I would have missed his quick intake of breath, the way his eyes widen on the image of his face.

"What is it Dean?"

"Mom used to date him."

"She did?"

"Yeah."

Tim's wife was more than glad he was gone, with good reason from the sound of it to. I don't want to picture Dean living with Tim Salvan any more than I want to picture him living with his stepfather.

"Do you recognize the other two?"

"Not the first one." He flips through the paper until he comes to the picture of third victim, the one killed next door.

"He looks familiar, but I don't know where from."

"OK...good, we're getting someplace."

But where? Does this really have everything to do with Dean?

I don't believe in coincidences.

"You don't think...I mean, this couldn't have anything to do with me, or my mom, could it?"

"I don't know."

He moves towards the window, looking out at the night.

"What if she's trying to come after me. From all those years ago, I mean...w-with my dad."

"I don't know." I say again, sounding like a broken record.

"I mean, it would make sense right?"

"Why would she want to do that though? From everything, it sounds like she just goes after husbands. What would she want with you?"

This time it's his turn to say I don't know.

* * *

"I'm gonna get something to eat." Dean says, breaking the silence. "You want anything?"

It's been more than an hour now, and I'm still sitting on the bed, waiting for Sammy to wake up. He's hardly even moved in all this time, nothing more than a twitch.

"No. I'm good." I say without taking my eyes from Sammy.

He grabs his jacket and heads for the door. "I'll be right back."

* * *

When Dean isn't back within the hour, I figure he needed some fresh air. But when the red display of the clock pushes through another hour, worry claws a hole in the pit of my stomach.


	10. Chapter 10: The Final Key

**We're almost to the end, only two more chapters left in the story after this.**

**Also, in response to a comment from AlecDeanFan, the Lechuza was unaffected by the rainwater because it's holy water that affects her. Dean fell into holy water when he was a kid...i read on the internet that springs filled with holy water are all around the city of Carrizo Springs, so I thought I would incorporate that in the story. I thought I explained that in chapter 8, but I read through and for some reason I took that part out as I was revising...which seeing as that's a big aspect of the story, I don't know how I did that. But it's in there now.**

* * *

At least twenty fast food joints line the streets between here and downtown. It takes me to the tenth one before I find anyone who'd seen Dean.

"You saw him get in the car?" I ask the cashier of Church's Chicken.

"Yeah, they were having a conversation. The big guy seemed pretty mad. He said something and the kid got in the car."

"And what did the big guy look like again?"

"Uh...like I said, he was big, really muscular. He had brown hair, graying." The door opens behind me and the kid leans his head around me. "Look man, I gotta get back to work here. I didn't really get a good look at the guy."

"Yeah, OK. Thanks."

I move back out to the car. With a quick check on Sammy in the back seat I start the Impala again, pointing the car towards Dean's house.

The windows are dark when I pull up, no movement behind the ripped curtains. I park the car in the shadows of a gnarled tree in the empty lot across from the house.

I reach for one of the gallons sitting below Sammy's seat, throwing the water on him. Sammy doesn't wake up when the cold liquid hits him, but he twitches against the seat. I do the same with the other three gallons until he's thoroughly drenched in holy water.

If Dean's taught me one thing it's to have enough holy water around this Lechuza.

I make a thick circle of salt in the dirt around the car just in case and head for the house.

I step through the long overgrown yard and pound on the front door. When I get no answer I call out.

"Russel Sullivan!" No answer.

"Dean! Mrs. Sullivan!" Still no answer.

The dread spreads from my stomach, pulsating through my body, ending at my hand as it reaches for the door knob. Slowly I turn the rusted metal in my hand. The mechanisms grind within the door until it clicks.

Unlocked.

I push the door open, watching as it slowly swings towards the wall, creaking loudly on it's hinges. I step inside, halting on the threadbare carpet, listening.

"Dean." I call quieter. "You in here?"

I reach along the wall searching for the light switch. My hand rubs against rough grooves on the abused wall, the result of the door being thrown hard against the plaster. I find it finally and flick.

Nothing happens.

Taking a deep breath and using the moonlight to guide my way I move deeper into the house. From what I can tell, it's small. Living room, kitchen, bathroom, two closed doors I assume are bedrooms. Not many places to hide.

I move for the kitchen, my foot slipping in something on the tiled floor. I don't need the lights on to know the dark puddle at my feet is blood.

The dread turns to panic when I find an abandoned knife laying on the ground, the tip coated in blood.

I pick it up, taking comfort in the small protection as I move for the two closed doors. Steeling myself I push the first one open, using it as a shield. Light from the moon filters through the cracked window, illuminating a single twin bed, a few posters on the walls, and not much else. This must be Dean's room. I creep further in, looking behind the door, under the bed.

Nothing

I move back for the living room and find the second door.

Just as I'm about to open it, something brushes against my foot. I jump and it takes all my willpower not to make a noise. I look down just as a rat scampers along the floor, taking shelter under the couch.

Pulling in another deep breath I push the door open. Black curtains cover the window, no light filtering through. I'm as good as blind as I move forward, unease pulsating through my skin.

I can't hear anything, but something tells me I'm not alone. Gripping the knife tight in my hand I walk past the door, standing exposed in the dark room.

Suddenly I hear movement from behind the door as I turn, knife in hand, slicing through the air, hearing a grunt as it meets with something. The victory is short lived though as something crashes into my skull and I feel myself falling to the ground, quickly loosing the battle with consciousness.

Blinking the blackness from my eyes I realize the knife is no longer in my hand. Desperately searching the ground around me I see a dark mass moving towards me, quickly closing the distance between us. I strike out with my leg, catching him in the shins.

Finally my hand graces over the rough wood of the knife handle, and I tighten my fingers around it. I bring it up and shove it in his leg, pulling it right out. Blood immediately soaks through the jeans.

This time he howls in pain, falling to the floor with a thud that shakes the walls.

"Where's Dean?" I grind out.

"You ain't gonna find him." He taunts between labored breaths.

"God Dammit!" I drop the knife between us and lunge at his shirt, bunching the material in my hands. "What'd you do with him?"

"Only what he deserved."

All the anger from the past few weeks. The hunt, Dean, the failures all well into my clenched fists and I slam him hard into the wall behind us, his head bouncing off it with a sickening thud.

He laughs after a minute of head lulling, growing louder until I slam him into the wall again.

"This isn't doing you any good." He says through the laughter.

"Just tell me where he is!"

"Nu-uh. I'll tell you what I will do though."

The rage distracted me from the knife until he had it in his closed fist, aimed for my head.

I brace for the impact. But it never comes.

Instead the closet door is thrown open, wood splintering at the hinges. Another shadow comes lurching towards us unsteady, throwing itself at Russel Sullivan. With a grunt, he's thrown to the ground with the momentum, the knife flown from his hand, coming to rest just outside the door.

"You fucker!"

"Dean?" I call in the dark.

"Yeah." It comes out breathless. Too breathless.

I move for the knife. "You OK?"

"Yeah." There's a few labored breathes, and then a sarcastic "Just great."

I move for the two, Dean barely managing the hold on his stepfather. I grab Russel's arm, forcing him to the kitchen with a jerk, Dean slowly trailing behind.

"You have any rope here?"

"Uh...yeah. I think there's some in the shed out back."

"Go get it."

He limps outside. It's too dark to see much of anything, but a dark stain is visible on the lower leg of his pants.

Russel Sullivan deserved that stab in more way than one.

Not a minute later he's back, a thick string coiled around his arm.

"Help me tie him to the chair."

He stills, staring at his stepfather's hands behind the back of the chair, his face unreadable.

"Hey." I call and he finally snaps out of it. "You're fine. Just tie his hands together."

He nods and moves behind the chair.

"Your leg OK?"

"Huh?" He says looking down. "Oh yeah, just a cut."

"Let me look at it?"

He flashes his eyes towards me. "No..it's fine, really."

He seems fine enough, so I let it got for now.

"Where's your mom?" I ask when he's done with the knot.

"Work."

"When she coming home? I need to talk to her."

"Should be soon."

"Good."

I test the rope. It seems tight enough. I get up, walking around the small house.

"How's Sam?" Dean asks.

"He's fine. He's out in the car."

"You sure he's safe out there?"

I walk to the kitchen window and look to the car still parked under the tree across the street.

"Yeah. He's safe, I made sure of it."

He nods in relief and I hear footsteps outside. A figure stands in the open doorway, blocking the moonlight.

"What's going on in here?"

"Mom..." Her head snaps to Dean's voice.

"Dean." She whispers, moving for him, wrapping her arms around him. "Where have you been?"

Dean pushes her away. "Like you even care." He mutters under his breath, his arms crossing at the chest.

She stares at him, hurt. "Of course I do."

"Yeah, right." Suddenly he turns, stomping down the steps as fast as his leg will allow. He pushes past the yard and stops on the road just outside the fence. He's breathing hard, the air coming out in angry puffs when we catch up.

"Baby –"

"Don't call me that." He spits at her.

"Dean, please –"

"Listen." I interrupt. "With all due respect Mrs. Sullivan, Dean's had a rough couple weeks. Maybe you should just back off a little."

She turns her entire body towards mine, her face twisted in anger. "I don't know who you think you are, but you have no right. You know nothing about this."

"Oh, I don't, huh? The moment Dean showed up at my motel after your _husband_ beat the living shit out of him put me right in the middle of it."

She at least has the decency to look embarrassed at that. "That was...He was – my husband was just having a bad night. Dean got in the way is all. But he's fine now. Aren't you Dean?"

Dean ignores her, keeping his head firmly pointed towards the ground.

"So you're saying it's Deans fault now. That's bullshit, he's your son. And look at him now! He's barely holding himself upright." I strike out at a stray beer can laying at my feet, kicking it halfway down the street.

"That's not how I meant it." Her voice has calmed, the fight taken out of her. She's watching her son closely.

"Than how did you mean it? Because that's sure how it sounded to me."

She tilts her head back towards me. "You don't understand."

"Then explain it to me. Tell me how you can just sit back and watch your kid get hurt. Tell me how you don't feel any guilt. Because I sure as hell don't understand it."

"It's just –" She starts to say, but a blur coming from the house cuts her off. It launches itself at Dean.

"You little bastard." Russel Sullivan yells, spit flying from his mouth as he throws his arms at Dean's neck, throwing him into the barbed wire.

Dean lets out a pained yelp when he face plants into the barbs.

I lunge for Russel Sullivan, but Kathy beats me to it.

She's clawing at her husband's back, desperately trying to get him off her son.

"Please Jack." She actually sounds sincere. "Let him go."

Jack?

"He'll behave. I promise. Just please just let him go."

_Jack_ reaches back and I thought he was going to let go. Instead he backhands Kathy across the face and she disappears into the grass when she falls.

He goes back to pummeling Dean.

With all the strength I have I pull him from Dean, throwing him into the grass beside his wife, and let loose.

My fists make contact every time, well placed punches to the eyes, cheeks and nose. I feel more than one bone snap as his face starts to swell around the cheeks, blood pooling from both nostrils. I move to his stomach and he lurches forward, barely conscious.

I can vaguely hear Kathy above me, pleading for me to stop. But it doesn't break my assault on the son of a bitch. Giving him ten times what he gave Dean.

Somebody has to make this right for the kid.

I only stop when he stills under me, no fight left in him.

Then my senses finally come back in focus.

"Please stop..." Kathy begs, her voice thick with tears. I look at her, the fear as naked as the bruise on her face. I'd care if it was the right person she was begging for.

But that's not what I focus on. It's her earrings glinting at me in the moonlight.

The same ones the wife of the latest victim was wearing back at the motel.

The same feathers hanging from the same gold loops.

Owl feathers.

I narrow my eyes on her. "Those earrings. Where did you get them?"

"What?" She's exasperated.

"Did you know a Ross..." I never did get his last name. "He and his wife Kathy just got married not too long ago. About a month."

"Yeah. Kathy's a friend."

"Did you let her borrow those earrings?"

"I don't remember. I'm sure I did." She shakes her head. "But what the hell does this have to do with anything."

"Everything. Can I borrow them?"

She gives me a blank stare.

"Please?"

Her hands move for her lobes, unclasping the loops from the holes and placing them in my outstretched hand.

"Thank you."

Only thing left to do is summon the thing.

* * *

**You're probably confused about the jack-Russel thing, but that'll come back in the last chapter.**


	11. Chapter 11: The Final Storm

Slapping Jack's face for the fifth time I call his name again. "Time to wake up Jack."

He finally starts to come around groaning into awareness. His hands fly to his face, fingering the damage, wincing with even the lightest touch. And I'm not ashamed at how good that makes me feel.

"Son of a bitch." He says through a breath.

"Listen. Kathy here has been talking while you were out. She wants to move out. Guess she finally came around, wants to leave your sorry ass."

"Kathy. What the hell." He tries to push himself up, stumbling. He throws his arm in my direction. "He's the one who attacked me, now you want to leave me."

"No Jack. He's lying, I would never –"

"Damn right." He growls. "You really think you could make it without me?"

He gets his feet under him, advancing on Kathy, who's barely gotten herself vertical.

"No baby, you –" She starts.

"'Cuz take my word, you and your shit for brains kid would be out on the street in a month, tops."

"We're not leaving Jack. We would never."

But if he hears her he doesn't acknowledge it, just continues throwing his words at her.

"Shit Kathy! I work my ass off all day for you, so you and your precious fucking son can live. I only put the food on the table, a roof over your head."

He gives her another backhand, a sharp crack as flesh meets flesh.

Dean moves for for them, but I grab his shoulder as he passes. Not hard but enough to plant him where he is. He glances down at the hand around his bicep, then at my face.

"You have to let them do this." I say.

He looks once more to his mother and stepfather, at the fist now holding tight to Kathy's arm, bruises already forming under the fingers. Deans jaw visibly twitches, until it stills and he straightens with a slight nod, eyes still fixed on their figures.

Another slap echos through the night and Dean flinches, looking like it takes all his willpower to stay where he is.

"Dean..." Kathy begs. Dean shuts his eyes and looks away as his mother's searching eyes find his.

That single word, and it's damn pleading tone brings my anger boiling to the surface again. My sympathy for her almost diminishes.

I put my hand on Dean's neck, anchoring both of us.

"Keep calling Kathy." Jack taunts. "He ain't coming this time."

The muscles in Dean's neck tense under my hand.

"Come on baby," Kathy says, turning her attention back to Jack. "Let's just go inside, I'll make you a drink."

"No! You want to split? Then split. Nothing's stopping you now."

"Jack. Baby, no. I'm not leaving." Her arm goes to his face, thumb stroking his cheek. "I'm staying right here."

Jack jerks his head from her reach, pushing her away. She almost falls flat with the harsh movement. "You think this is your choice? No! I'm fucking sick of you and your god damn kid. It's over."

_Finally _a rumbling sounds in the distance. The tell tale signs of a coming storm.

Jack abruptly turns back towards the house, stomping across the yard and up the stairs, disappearing inside.

"Where are you going?" Kathy calls, trailing after him.

"Where do you think?" He calls from somewhere within the house.

I take one last look at the quickly approaching storm before I follow behind them, squeezing the earrings in my hand, feathers tickling my palm.

I find them in their bedroom, Jack grabbing her clothes in a bundle before throwing the window open and stuffing them through.

"Jack! Stop, please." She calls, desperately grabbing for his arms.

"Let go." He tears his arms from her hands. "Fucking bitch." He adds under his breath.

He moves next door, to Dean's barren room. He does the same, throwing his meager possessions through the window into the darkness below.

Dean's breaths are coming out harsh through his nose, his jaw still clenched as he watches, hands bunched at his sides.

Jack sees Dean as he passes back through the door frame.

He stops, towering over the kid and backing him into the wall. His face tightens in anger as he stares down at him.

With a sudden fury he slams him into the wall. "Shoulda' killed you when I had the chance." He hurls in a low growl I have to fight to hear.

I grip Jack's shirt, pulling fast and hard. He swivels, grasping at my wrists and pushing me away. "What are you even doing here? This is between me and my family."

"Not anymore it's not." I reach my fist back when a powerful boom shakes the house, lightning flashing barely a second later.

The storm is right above us.

Instead of crushing his face in, I push him towards the front door, back outside into the heavy rain.

"Dean," I call. "The Hail Mary's in the car. Go get it."

He rushes in the direction of the car, coming back, bag in hand, a couple seconds later.

I can't see the Lechuza, but I know she's around here somewhere.

Ready to take her last victim.

"Wait until I say so. Then start reading." I look straight at Dean's stepfather. "I'm giving her one last victim."

For the first time, fear distorts Jack's features. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"You'll see."

Finally I see movement from the other side of the house. She rises high above the roof, her wings beating against the wind and rain. She swoops down aiming for Jack, talons poised and ready to attack.

Jack yells out when she grabs hold of his shoulders, his voice cutting through the downpour.

"Jack!" Kathy calls out.

"Now!" I yell out at Dean.

_Amen_

_Muerte nuestra de hora la en y ahora_

_Pecadores nosotros por ruega_

_Dios de Madre Maria Santa_

_Jesus_

She tears into the man, limbs torn from his body with ease, discarded through the air. When his arm falls to the grass below, Jack slumps in her hold, the light dying behind his eyes. She drops him, landing in a jumbled mess on the ground. Kathy moves for him, but gags when she catches sight of his mangled body. She turns her head, covering her watery eyes and backing away. This time the owl's focus turns to Kathy and she swoops back towards the ground, grabbing her in the talons.

"Mom!"

"Keep reading!" I call, pulling the lighter from my pocket, setting fire to the earrings.

She lets out a resounding screech, dropping Kathy to the ground, falling dead next to Jack.

_Vientre tu de fruto el es bendito Y_

_Mujeres las todas entre eres tu bendita_

_Contigo es Senor el_

_Gracia de eres Llena_

_Maria, Salve te Dios_

Despite his shaking words, Dean's pronunciation is flawless, the effect immediate as the owl weakens, losing altitude. The feathers burn slow, her energy waning with each passing second.

She comes at me, swaying as she soars through the air. I grab the gun from my belt and aim.

_Click_

Shit! No rounds.

The feathers are burning too slow. I look towards the car, at the trunk holding the shotgun. Not enough time.

Distraction is the only option left.

"Dean! Run to the car, get the shotgun!" I call. "I'll hold her off, but you'll only have one shot."

"John –"

"Now!" He runs.

She comes at me, mere inches away. I brace myself, turning my head away.

_Boom!_

What the hell? That wasn't enough time.

"Sam!"

I turn my face back around to Dean staring wide eyed at Sammy holding the smoking gun, still leveled at where the owl was just flying.

"Sammy! You did it!" Dean yells, rushing for him, grabbing his head and pulling it towards his chest.

When he lets go, Sam looks back up, a smile cracking his face.

I walk to where a woman now lies. Her face hidden by her hair, but the gaping hole in her chest is undeniable.

I move to Sam and Dean. Sam look up at me as I take the gun from his hand. I place my hand on his hair, relishing in the warmth of his body. I pull him in for a hug, his head leaning against my chest.

"Good job Sammy."

When I let go, he's beaming.


	12. Chapter 12: The End

**The end has finally come. **

**I want to thank everybody who has stuck with this story, and I also very much appreciate all of you who have given me feedback-thank you very much. Especially AlecDeanFan, NongPradu and Rosebudgirl for being regulars.**

**I hope this chapter isn't too lame...**

* * *

He sits beside the grave, his hand flat against the rough stone. The sun sits high in the sky, blue and cloudless. In the week since we've killed the Lechuza not one drop of rain has fallen over Carrizo Springs.

The local news are calling the Sullivans' deaths an unfortunate accident, the latest of a long string of animal attacks. And with the Lechuza now reduced to a pile of ash, no one will ever know the difference.

We watch Dean from a distance, giving him the space he needs. I stand behind Sam, my hands on his still healing shoulders. He'll have a few nasty scars, but it could have been worse. A lot worse.

Finally, Dean grabs his coat and pushes himself to his feet, limping slightly as he heads back to us. The bruises on his face are healing, the discoloration growing weaker each day and the stitches are now gone, two thin scars taking their place.

"Ready to go?"

He nods. We get a couple steps before he talks. "You know, she wasn't that bad of a person. How you saw her...that wasn't her. Not really."

I don't say anything, angling my head towards him instead.

"She was just afraid of Russel."

He says it like it's an excuse. Like he actually believes it.

Though if I were to ask him if he were afraid of Russel, I know what his answer would be. The one thing Dean did differently though is he never let that get in the way. He did the one job his mother should have been doing all along. He survived, and for that I'm glad because he's made me realize what I never knew what Sam and I were missing all along.

I'm pulled back to reality as he starts again.

"I mean," He thinks for a second. "With Tim Salvan...you remember him, right?" At my nod he continues.

"He was one of the first ones after my father –" He falters, closing his eyes, exhaling. "She protected me then...it just became too much for her."

I almost open my mouth to argue, but with his mom six feet under fresh dirt, it's not the time.

"She was just afraid." He finally says, his words getting lost in the breeze.

At the Impala, Sam sits in the front seat, hiding a smirk as he looks at Dean through the open door.

"Hey, backseat Bitch." Dean jokes, trying to manhandle Sam over the seat back.

"Whatever, Jerk." Sam jokes back, finally giving into his laughter as he slides into the backseat, leaning forward to flick at Deans ear as he settles himself into the seat, mindful of his leg.

I don't know when the Bitch-Jerk or the joking started. But it feels right. More than right.

I turn the ignition as Sam sits back, leaning against the middle seat.

I turn to Dean. "You really sure you want to come with us?" It's the hundredth time I've asked, but there's no take backs once the Impala is on the highway.

"Dad!" Sam calls from the back seat. "Stop trying to talk him out of it!"

"I'm not trying to talk him out of it. I just want him to know what he's getting himself into."

Dean turns in his seat, so he's looking at both of us. "I'm sure." He gives me a hard look. "So give it a rest."

"That's all I need to hear." I say as I peel out from the cemetery road, dust and gravel flying from the spinning tires.

* * *

Nearly two hours later, Sam's asleep in the back seat, his head lulling with the movement of the Impala.

"It was my stepfather." Dean's voice cuts over the music.

"Huh?" I turn to him, keeping one eye on the road.

"That first night. At the Impala outside the motel. It was my stepfather hiding behind the car. It was him I was distracting you from."

"I figured as much when your mom called him Jack." I move past a van in the passing lane. "Why is that anyway?"

"Why is what?"

"Why does she call him Jack? Everyone else seems to call him Russel."

"He hated the name Russel, so his friends and his brothers all called him Jack. It was his middle name." His head turns outside, watching the passing scenery outside the window, his voice dropping. "I never called him Jack, except that night. And he gave me hell for it."

I nod and he falls quiet again. I reach my hand for the volume nob, letting the radio fill the silence.

_There's a place up ahead and I'm goin'  
Just as fast as my feet can fly  
Come away, come away, if you're goin'  
Leave the sinkin' ship behind_


End file.
